


Bad Blood

by the_authors_exploits



Series: Strangers in Nothing but Name [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Civil War MCU, DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Civil War AU, Drama, Gen, M/M, also yeahh cliche title is cliche, everything is a sad...i am sad you are sad bucky is sad jason is mad, see what I did there??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7092637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It began in Lagos.”</p><p>And it did, that’s what everyone thinks; that’s what everyone believes, so let them record it like that. Let them write it in the history books and brand him a monster.</p><p>He is one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Start at the end

**Author's Note:**

> The title is so cliche, but in keeping with the pattern of music inspiring this series Bastille and Taylor Swift must be used in the title!!  
> Also, while this segment is inspired by Civil War and follows certain plot points...Im taking the concept and running with it so it diverts from canon a lot...which should be normal for this series lol  
> Lastly, Im hoping to update every Thursday or Friday as time goes on; I originally was going to post this fully, but as I was writing this I wanted to start posting it as I go. Sort of keep ya'll in suspense as the story progresses...

He wasn’t going to move, not because he was afraid of being electrocuted for disobedience or because the metal cuffs around his arms and chest and legs kept him still; no, he wasn’t going to move because he was afraid. Not afraid of retaliation, but afraid of what he would do.

The glass box they’d secured him in was breathable, but electrified; a twitch out of place, and the handler would switch the manual punishment on; if he rested his forehead to the glass, the machine would shock him automatically. If he strained to much at the cuffs, alarms would sound. And, if he did get free—which he knows he could, it’d be so easy really when he thinks about it—he might hurt someone again.

So he sits, silently, motionless, vacant gaze on the table where a specialist will come in and interrogate him from; will flip pictures for him to see, will ask questions, _what do you remember, why did you hurt him, what made you try to kill him_.

Sure enough, the door clangs open a few minutes later and a man in a tan suit walks in; he’s never liked tan suits. They’re tacky, cheap… They remind him of days in Brooklyn when Steve was sick, and they had no money, and he had to go to work selling papers on the corner, before heading to the butcher for a few hours pay, and then and then and then…

The man comes in with a pile of files and papers; he tosses them on the table, doesn’t sit, sighs and opens the files casually. Bucky watches him, not closely; it doesn’t matter. It won’t matter anymore.

“Mr Barnes?” The man begins, pausing in flipping pictures and organizing x-rays to lift a pointed gaze at the soldier. “Is it alright if I call you that?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Or would you prefer…” the man picks a piece of paper up, as if he doesn’t know Bucky’s name. “James?” he flips through more papers, slowly spreading over the long table. “Bucky?” He pauses; Bucky braces himself for what’s coming next. “The Winter Soldier?”

“Mr Barnes is fine.” His voice is hoarse, disused, solemn.

The man nods and sets the papers down; he continues to study the pictures. “Do you know why you’re here, in this predicament, Mr Barnes?”

He nods, swallows. “I do.”

“Hmm…” He moves with flourish to drag the table closer to Bucky’s box; Bucky can see the images now, though he knew what they were to begin with. He flips the x-rays so they’re facing Bucky, maneuvers pictures into place. “Do you remember what you did?”

“…yes…”

The man nods, and Bucky realizes he doesn’t know his name; but he won’t ask. He doesn’t have the energy for it, and he doesn’t think it’s his place to be asking for anything. He doesn’t deserve it.

The man picks up a picture, looks at it, and then turns it for Bucky to see. “Do you recognize this man?”

Blond hair, cut close, strong jaw and broad shoulders; “Steve… Steve Rogers.” There’s a slight purpling bruise underneath his eye, a small sign of what’s been done; a cut is on the other cheek, swollen, and around his throat is a ring of black and blue like fingers, more noticeable on the right side of his neck, where his assaulters left hand tightened and tightened and tightened.

“Do you know how all this…” he indicates the injuries. “Came about?”

“…yes…”

The interrogator nods; he takes a seat on the edge of the table and, once more, fiddles with the papers, the pictures, he shoves several directly in front of Bucky’s line of sight. “Do you know why I’m here?”

There’s an x-ray of an arm, blue background and white bone; an arm, wrong, twisted around. The letter under the title patient reads _TODD, J_ , and the papers next to it recount his injuries. The pictures show the splatter of red blood when he’d first been brought in, across the cut on his brow, the lacerations on his arms, the stab wound in his side. Bucky remembers screaming.

“To determine…what happened.”

“Yes.”

“For…legal reasons… You have to hear…my side.”

The man nods, and they sit in silence for a while; Bucky wonders what else the papers say. What the damage report is, how many were injured…how many were killed.

“So,” the man starts again. “What is your side?”

Bucky blinks, tosses his head. “Does it matter? You know what happened.”

“Yes, but we want to hear from you; what you were thinking, why you did what you did.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Bucky answers, an edge to his voice. “I just… _did_.”

“What is the first thing you remember?” His tone has gone softer, coaxing; Bucky doesn’t trust it, but he speaks anyway…

“It began in Lagos…” Bucky shakes his head. “No, it…it really started in Sokovia, or around there.”

“Sokovia?” the interrogator says. “That was the incident a few months ago, with Ultron?”

Bucky nods, but then he realizes what he’s about to say; to condemn Wanda further, to confirm what they think of her, to fixate monster with magic, to water their fear and watch it grow. To tell them that it all began to fall apart when she touched his mind. “No…I made a mistake… It-it began in Lagos.”

And it did, that’s what everyone thinks; that’s what everyone believes, so let them record it like that. Let them write it in the history books and brand him a monster.

He is one.


	2. It started in Lagos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Russian is taken from Google Translate, Im sorry for any mistakes; I tried to retranslate it and make it as accurate as possible...

Jason had been antsy, for weeks after the TechGala, and Bucky thought it might help him to go out and let off some steam; he’d approached Steve with this theory, and Steve thought it was great, so he’d brought an option up to Jason during dinner one night.

“Jason,” he began, setting his fork aside, and Bucky chewed on his spaghetti slowly; talking to Jason now was like playing with fire. He would either swallow the earth whole, in a blaze of flame, or flicker out and be unresponsive for hours.

Today, Jason seemed to be calm and he turned a slightly disinterested gaze on Steve; the kid’s plate was still full, only a few bites missing, and Bucky frowned down at his fork that twirled the spaghetti around and around.

“I’ve got a lead in Lagos on Hydra.”

Bucky was proud he didn’t flinch; there were still memories, ones he tried to keep buried down with the warmth of Steve and the responsibility of Jason.

“I’m going with Sam and Nat, and Wanda is going to be tagging along too; we were wondering if you wanted to come too?”

Jason stuffed the forkful he’d been winding spaghetti on for the past seven minutes in his mouth, and chewed; “S’Bucky going?”

With only a slight sinking feeling in his stomach, Bucky nodded. “I’ll go if you want me to.” And he would, but he was fearful to face Rumlow again which is why he wasn’t on the team roster from the beginning… But he would go, if it would support Jason.

Jason didn’t respond immediately; instead, he poked at the noodles on his plate, threw his fork down, and sat back. He crossed his arms. “Alright, I’ll go.”

And that’s how Bucky was found looking over weaved baskets in a Lagos market place with Wanda looking over his shoulder; they listened to the chatter between their teammates, Jason making a comment about taking the stairs next time Sam felt the need to fly him up to a rooftop and Sam responded with a quip about being scared of heights.

Wanda fingered a scarf to the side, and Bucky pulled his hat lower on his head.

“Think Jason’ll be ok?” he asked after switching off his mic.

Wanda nodded; “he will be fine.”

“I mean with this…power of his.” That had been an interesting talk to have, and Bucky was secretly thankful they didn’t have to give Jason the birds and the bees talk; if magical powers were this strange to talk about, then that would’ve been horrible. Jason had stepped into the apartment, blank faced, after the Gala and promptly shattered the glass in Steve’s hand without so much as a twitch; _“I’m different_ ”, was what he’d said and Bucky had only been so terrified and lost a handful of times in his life. “I mean, we don’t really know anything about it. He’s not a meta, Wanda; he’s just a—”

“Kid?” Wanda questioned, and she set the scarf down to scan their surroundings. “So was I.”

Bucky nodded. “I know, I’m sorry; it’s just…I don’t know if this is good. For Jason; what is this magic doing to him?”

“It was keeping him alive,” Wanda responded. “And now it can protect him.”

Before Bucky could respond, Steve’s voice floated over the comlinks, spouting information on Rumlow’s location, and Bucky and Wanda were off.

The fighting was easy to contain at first, knocking out the Hydra agents or keeping civilians away, but then they made a break for it and Rumlow and the biological weapon were out in the open—missing, running, and Bucky sprinted down an alleyway to back up Steve.

“Right behind you, Buck!” Jason’s feet pounded behind him.

Bucky clicked his comm unit. “We’re headed your way, Steve!”

The only response was the sound of Steve punching someone; Bucky ran faster. They rounded the corner to Steve tossing his shield at Rumlow; it knocked the man down, and Steve was on him in a flash. Bucky tried to push through the crowd of fleeing civilians.

_“Go to the motel, it’s safe there; go, go!”_

Jason didn’t question the language, too familiar with Bucky’s wide range and knowledge of cultures; he pushed pass Bucky, so while Bucky got caught directing civilians Jason hurried to back up Steve. Jason arrived at his side first, aiming one of his semi-automatic pistols at Rumlow.

“You’re an idiot,” Rumlow was saying. “You’ve given me everything I’ve wanted, Captain America.”

Jason furrowed his brows, but behind the eye mask it was unnoticeable; he shifted to his other foot, uncomfortable. Steve shook his head.

“I’m taking you in, Rumlow.”

The man gave a bloody grin; “You’ve walked him right into my hands? You think we wanted the bio-weapon?”

Their comms came to life, crackling with the news that Natasha had got possession of the bio-weapon. “Then what do you want?” Steve questioned.

Rumlow’s grin widened; behind him, Jason felt Bucky approach their group. “Zdravstvuyte, soldat.”

Jason stiffened, feeling Bucky do the same, and Bucky took a step forward as if to be between Jason and Rumlow. “Steve?” Jason asked as he lowered his gun; Bucky had practically stepped in front of his crosshairs.

“Gotov k podchinyat'sya?”

Steve shook the man; “enough of that!”

Bucky understood what he was saying; he shook his head, taking a step back, pushing Jason away with him. “No,” he muttered; he would not comply. He would not be swallowed by those flashes, those painful shocks running through his body, the memory of screams and metal in his mouth.

“Toska, rzhavyye, pech', rassvelo.”

“Hey!” Steve yelled, shaking Rumlow again. “You don’t get to talk.”

“Semnadtsat', dobrokachestvennaya, devyat', vozvrashcheniye domoy.”

“Stop,” Bucky muttered; his limbs were locked against his will, and his consciousness was wavering, thoughts and emotions burrowing away expertly. Regret, remorse, sympathy; all vanished, until he was blank.

“Odin, gruzovoy avtomobil'.”

His shoulders straightened, tensed to pounce, and his face blanked to nothing. “Gotov k podchinyat'sya.”

Jason wished Natasha had taught him Russian; once more their comms came to life, and Natasha’s voice drifted through, quick and clipped.

_“Get away from him!”_

“Natasha?”

Rumlow was still grinning, and he spoke once more. “Ubey ikh.”

Steve punched him, knocking him onto his back, dazed. “That’s enough from you.”

_“You guys have to get away from Bucky!”_

Jason eyed his guardian. “Bucky?” He reached a hand out…

And Bucky twisted fast, gripping Jason about the throat with frightening speed and strength, and immediately Jason couldn’t breathe; Bucky squeezed his hand tight.

“Bucky!” Steve rushed forward, but Bucky was faster; he took the gun from Jason’s holster, and fired three shots into Steve’s shoulder. Steve went down in shock, and Bucky grabbed Jason’s scrabbling hand and twisted.

Jason’s voice broke out, a hoarse scream past the hand stealing his breath, his bones crushed together in the metal hand; that hand useless, Bucky twisted a knife from its sheath at the base of his back and plunged it in Jason’s side, twisting and pulling.

Steve rose, glanced momentarily at Rumlow who was as well beginning to recover; Steve pressed a hand to the wounds in his shoulder. Two had gone straight through, and the third was lodged in; looking up, he spotted Bucky holding Jason suspended by his throat, a serrated knife buried in his side. Steve hurried to stand, grabbed his shield, and threw it with a yell.

“Bucky!”

Bucky tossed Jason aside as he dodged the shield and the boy rolled in the dusty ground, groaning; Steve stared down the blank, mission look he had thought he’d never see again.

With his arms at his side, he pleaded “Bucky, you know us.”

Rumlow chuckled. “Your _Bucky_ isn’t yours anymore, Captain.” He fumbled with a device from his pocket, pulling a detonator out.

When Steve turned to stop Rumlow, Bucky rushed forward and tackled him to the ground; while Bucky pummeled Steve’s face, Rumlow watched and waited. The detonator would be a last resort, on the off chance the Winter Soldier did not complete his mission.

The following events were in quick succession; to begin with, Natasha came swooping in upon the scene, wrapping her legs about Bucky’s head and shocking him at the base of his skull, effectively knocking him unconscious. With him slumped, Jason moaning pathetically a few feet away, and Steve still recovering from his bullet wounds and the beating he got, Natasha turned her attention to subdue Rumlow.

And Rumlow activated the detonator, signaling the bomb strapped to his chest to blow; he was grinning, until he realized the red barrier surrounding him, containing the blast.

Standing above Jason was Wanda, feet firmly planted, fingers tense as they danced to vault Rumlow up, away from civilians and her family; she got halfway up the building before she could no longer contain the blast, and three floors were taken out with Rumlow. The blast shook the building, echoed across the market, and the screaming and crying of victims poured out. Wanda covered her mouth in horror, and Natasha spared her a glance before pressing her comm.

“Sam, we need fire and rescue over here.”

“What’s going on?”

She surveyed the scene; Steve rolling to his feet gingerly, hurrying for the burning building, with Wanda still shell-shocked over the bleeding Jason, Bucky unconscious at Natasha’s feet. Rumlow was pieces and goo. “Nothing good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zdravstvuyte, soldat—Hello, soldier  
> Gotov k podchinyat'sya?—Ready to submit?  
> Toska, rzhavyye, pech', rassvelo, semnadtsat', dobrokachestvennaya, devyat', vozvrashcheniye domoy, odin, gruzovoy avtomobil'—Longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, freight car (these are the words used to activate the Winter Soldier in the Civil War movie, if my research is correct)  
> Ubey ikh—kill them


	3. Talk of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter, but good news! This should be the last short, and present tense, chapter for a while; now we're headed back in time for about 3 or 4 chapters; even more good news, if I have the next chapter done within the next few days Ill post it early for you guys! ^-^

“What was your reasoning?” The man asks; Bucky rests his head against the back of his seat. His neck is exposed, his chest presented for any weapon to come in.

“There was none; I was…I was given an order and I followed it. I complied; it’s what the Winter Soldier does.”

The investigator makes some notes on a paper; “When you grabbed Todd, what were you feeling?”

Bucky breathes. “Nothing; there…there is no emotion as the asset. There’s just…instinct, instruction.”

There’s a room, a maze of hallways and locked doors away from this one; it’s a glass fish bowl, curious gazes peering in, and Captain America sits at the head of the table. By his side is Wanda and Jason, Wanda watching everything with wide eyes and Jason seething where he sits; there are waves of energy rolling off him, and Wanda wonders when those waves will destroy everything. There’s Ross and Stark standing before them, talking, lecturing, explaining; there is a stack of paper in front of them, a contract. Stark nurses a black eye, and Steve pointedly doesn’t look at him.

Bucky doesn’t know this; all he knows are his memories, what this man is saying, and what he responds with. There are these four walls, the cold air conditioning blowing about, the echoes of feet shuffling against the floor.

The man nods. “So you just acted? Just did what you were told?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Bucky’s voice strains as he keeps speaking. “Yes! That’s what the Winter Soldier does, that’s what I was trained to do!”

The silence is practically deafening; the man—that’s all Bucky knows him as, _the man_ , nothing more personal—continues to paw through the files, and Bucky swallows. He shouldn’t have yelled; he’ll be in trouble now.

But he remembers what it felt like, afterwards; when he awoke to Sam looming over him, to Steve’s pinched face. The one he always makes when he’s troubled, when he’s been betrayed or hurt or insulted. Bucky remembers, during the incident; the screams, the groans, the way Jason looked so betrayed. So hurt, so very confused, as confused as Steve did afterwards, as Bucky continued to choke the life out of him. He remembers not caring, only pursuing his goal to _kill them_. He remembers waking up afterwards, though.

“I remember…” he says quietly. “Afterwards. What it felt like.”

The interviewer steeples his hands; he’d taken a seat in the chair a while ago, sometime during Bucky’s recounting of what happened. “And?”

Bucky blinks; his eyes drip water and he wills it to stop. “I feel guilty.”


	4. Little Things Define You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry for the mega late update! If you dont follow me on tumblr, you may not know that Ive been going through a stressful time; I was very close to being kicked out of school because I couldnt pay (thankfully, Ive gotten money and am still enrolled), Im overworked with school right now, and we've decided to sell the house and move. Essentially, life is a bitch and I would like to punch it in the face. During the past month or so I decided to focus my writing energy on fics that I wanted to write for fun, so I ended up neglecting this one
> 
> Im not going to say that I will be able to stick to my previous schedule of "updated every Tuesday", but I am going to try and focus some more of my attention on this fic rather than wait for the end of classes in 5 weeks to pick it up again. Im sorry for keeping y'all waiting!

He opened his eyes, sticky and burning, and wished he hadn’t; there was a light, too bright, and his head pounded. There were echoes, small memories he wasn’t sure were real, and he shook his head to get rid of the cobwebs.

“Bucky?”

He raised his head slowly, coming to view Sam Wilson; the man looked furious, hardly containing his emotions behind crossed arms.

“Do you know who I am?”

“…Sam…” Bucky swallowed. “You’re Sam Wilson.”

Sam grunted, and turned to the doorway; a warehouse? No, the basement of Stark Tower; a secure location, specifically designed to contain volatile beings (namely Thor or Hulk) and to withstand another invasion. Why was Bucky here? He tried to sit up from his slouched position, but found his metal arm held at an odd angle in a giant vice. Apparently, this place was meant to hold him too.

Steve stepped in through the doorway, from the shadows beyond, and he squinted in the bright lights around them; he too crossed his arms and Bucky recognized the look on his face. The fake impassivity, the pinch between his brows, the narrowing of his lips, the shallow flair of his nostrils; he was hurt, he was confused, he was…unsure.

“Steve?”

“So you know who I am?”

Bucky shook his head again. “I…yes. Of course; what…what happened?” There’s a brief vision of a boy, someone he should know, scrabbling at his arms and face turning blue, purple, straining for air. “I don’t…”

“Who are you?”

Bucky snapped his head up, eyes wide and fearful. “Bucky… I’m Bucky.”

Steve didn’t move, and Sam eyed the space between them carefully.

“Steve? What happened?”

Finally, Steve moved; he pulled a stool in front of the door and took a seat, Sam at his shoulder. “You…You tried to kill us, Buck.”

That doesn’t sound like him; Bucky wouldn’t try to kill Steve. No, he loves Steve, always has and always will. “I wouldn’t…”

“But you did,” Sam piped up, and Steve raised a hand as if to tell him to stop.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Solidly, Bucky saw Jason in front of him, backing Steve up, who had a hold on— “Rumlow. I-I remember Rumlow; you had him in custody, and Jason was… He was standing behind you.”

“Anything else?”

Bucky thought, real hard, pulling the foggy memories together until a scene came, one he didn’t want to see. He jerked, and placed his free hand on his metal arm, tugging experimentally. “Is Jason alright?” There’s the boy’s face in front of him, changing colors, mouth moving in a pleading way; his hands were on a piece of metal wrapped around his throat, and then the scene shifted—Jason screamed without air. “He…I…Someone hurt him…”

“…You did, Bucky.”

He doesn’t say anything; he wouldn’t… He loves Jason, he wouldn’t hurt him. Silence stretched between the trio, only broken by Bucky’s labored breaths, and then Sam’s phone chimed quietly; he pulled it out and stepped from the room.

“Steve…”

“Rumlow said some things to you; in Russian. Natasha, she won’t tell me what it was. Fury is talking with her right now.”

“Is Jason alright?” He saw the bruises now, on Steve’s face; across his cheek, the stiff way he carried himself. “I hurt you too, didn’t I?”

Steve hesitated; nodding slowly, he spoke. “Shot me a couple times; in the shoulder. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“…I shot you…” Bucky mumbled; he shot Steve, he hurt Jason. “Rumlow said something to me.”

“Do you know what it was?”

Bucky shook his head, and Steve sighed, rubbing at his eyes; he looked tired, exhausted, strained.

“Rumlow’s dead.”

Bucky nodded vacantly. “You still haven’t answered my question: is Jason ok?”

Before Steve could answer, Sam stepped back into the room and settled a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “That was the hospital; Jason’s out of surgery.”

“Is he ok?”

Sam glanced briefly at Bucky, but it was Steve who answered. “The stab wound was pretty deep, and his arm was nearly shattered. He’s going to be in a lot of pain for a while, but he should make a full recovery.”

Bucky hung his head; he’d shot Steve, he’d stabbed Jason. “What’s going to happen now?”

“Fury and Coulson are working on it.” Steve stood slowly, setting the stool aside. “I’m going to go check on Jason; would you…would you like to come?”

Bucky nearly glared. “I could hurt you all again.”

Sam shrugged, though he still seemed on edge and irritated. “I doubt it; unless someone else knows those magic words, I think we’re safe.”

“Jason won’t want to see me.”

Steve shifted from foot to foot. “He kept asking about you on the way over; he was asking if you were ok, where you were. I think he’d be happy to see you.”

Bucky didn’t want to go, too scared of himself, but Steve was insistent and when Sam released the vice, Bucky really had no choice. He followed them up from the bunker, into the bright daylight that was somehow more stinging than the ones below, and they settled into Sam’s small car to drive to the hospital.

“What’s Fury going to do?”

Steve shrugged, winced when the actions pulled at his wounds. “We’re not sure yet.”

At the hospital, they’re greeted by a doctor, short and stocky, with a StarkPadd in hand.

“Captain!” The nametag read Dr Bregin, and Bucky absently committed that to memory; he was still trying to understand what had happened, why Steve and Sam seemed so ready to brush it all away. “I’m glad you’re here; the surgery went well. We were able to fix all the damage of the stab wound, and his arm was horrendously broken but we’ve casted it. He shouldn’t move for a while or do any strenuous activities, and he may need physical therapy to strengthen his arm again; the injury was…damaging.”

The walls have closed in on Bucky, and the air had grown thick and heavy; he was the one who injured Jason. He hurt Steve; it was a sickening thought, but Dr Bregin was smiling encouragingly and sympathetically at him.

“Not to worry, Mr Barnes; Jason will be just fine.” Dr Bregin handed his Padd over for Steve to sign some electronic papers, and then ushered them through sterile hallways to a private room. “He should wake up in the next hour or so; he might be disorientated, but that’s just the medication we’ve given him.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, and then they were alone; Sam, who had been staying oddly quiet, pushed in front of them both and twisted the knob when neither moved to do so.

“Steve,” Bucky said; he caught a glimpse of Jason in the hospital room as Sam slipped inside. “I shouldn’t be here; Dr Bregin knows the damage I’ve done and…”

“No one knows,” Steve spoke quietly, shocking Bucky into silence. “Fury’s keeping it under wraps for now.”

“What?” Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. “Steve, I was the Winter Soldier again; we shouldn’t be hiding this. I shouldn’t be allowed out of Shield custody! I’m dangerous.”

“Rumlow’s gone,” Steve argued. “And you aren’t a threat right now; we don’t… Bucky, you aren’t a threat.”

“I hurt you.”

Steve turned to look at the door; “Bucky…can we deal with this later? I trust you, and I’m sure Jason would like you to be there when he wakes up. It’s…it’s going to be fine; you’ll probably have a psych evaluation, Fury might talk to you, you may be benched for a bit, but...it’ll be fine.” Steve finally looked Bucky in the eyes. “We’ll go back to normal, get you whatever help you need; Rumlow is gone, Bucky. It’s going to be ok.”

Bucky didn’t believe him, but allowed Steve to open the door and gesture him inside; the room was lowly lit, the bed off center and surrounded by two monitors and several bags of fluid. The IVs led to the bed, where Jason lay; his chest moved in even, deep breaths and he was tucked tight under the sheets. Most likely Sam’s doing, as he was still working on getting Jason comfortable; Jason’s right lower arm was encased in a cast, a few pins stuck through the material to hold his arm in place, and it rested above the covers that Sam was trying to make comfortable for him.

While Steve hurried to stand besides Jason, a hand automatically going for Jason’s auburn hair, Bucky hesitantly took a spot by the foot of the bed; he settled his hand on the plastic there, and eyed the casting, the IVs stuck into the back of Jason’s hand or the crook of his arm, the paleness of his skin Bucky knew to associate with blood loss, the bruises around his throat that indicated he had been strangled. Bucky’s hand burned, and he told himself to loosen his grip on the bed before he broke it.

Steve and Sam murmured in the quiet of the room as the minutes ticked by; Sam had dragged chairs over from the table in the corner, but Bucky refused to move. He was, admittedly, scared; everything seemed so uncertain, and he wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel other than guilty and scared. He hadn’t ever wanted to hurt Jason or Steve or anyone, but he had and now he didn’t know what to do; his life used to revolve around making them happy and keeping them safe, but now with that having been broken he was lost.

Jason woke up slowly; his mouth felt like cotton, his throat felt like it did when he had strep throat—swollen and irritated—and his arm felt stiff. Besides that, everything else was fucking fantastic; no, seriously, he felt amazing—ly tired. His mind was fuzzy and sluggish, something he didn’t quite appreciate, but overall he just felt so sleepy; he hummed, and that was a mistake because then his eyes flew open, his brows furrowed, and he tried to make sense of where he was because god did humming hurt!

Steve was there, a softly smiling blob floating above him, and there was a thumb on his forehead brushing softly over his skin. “Jay? You with us?”

Jason nearly hummed again; he didn’t though, and instead tried swallowing to alleviate the pain. That, also, didn’t really help. He arched uncomfortably against the mattress, but was pleasantly surprised when the sheets held fast around him; he liked being buried under blankets, held tight but not suffocatingly so, and this was pretty perfect.

“Jason? Open your eyes for a bit, kiddo.”

Well, people did what Captain America told them to do so Jason opened his eyes again and sent a halfhearted glare at his guardian; “W’at ‘appe’ed?”

Steve was suddenly holding a cup with a straw in it, having been handed it by…Sam? Yeah, that looked like Sam; Jason squinted at the straw but dutifully drank a bit. It helped ease the ache in his throat for a while, but it was still there. Steve spoke as he drank some more; “do you remember what happened? We were in Lagos.”

Jason practically spat the straw out, perturbed Steve seemed to think his brain was damaged; “Yeah,” he croaked. Then, “Bucky…” Jason rasped; the purpling bruises around his throat indicated further harm to his throat, and Steve gently chastised him for speaking.

Steve kept smiling, though he wished he could do something to help Jason; he felt useless. He could help Bucky, and he couldn’t help Jason; what use was it to be a hero if he couldn’t help the ones he loved most? “It’s ok, kiddo, just don’t speak right now.”

“’urts…”

Steve smiled at him, that soft smile that said he was going to do everything to make sure Jason was cared for. “I know, I’m so sorry; we’ll see if we can’t get you stronger painkillers.”

“Bucky…” Jason rasped again, and Bucky stood still; he barely breathed. “’ere’s Bucky?”

Steve shifted, pointing down to where Bucky was. “He’s right here, kiddo; see?” He waited patiently for Jason’s medicated mind to register the words, and waited even more patiently for Jason to shift his blurry gaze down to the foot of the bed. “See? Right here too, kiddo; we’re both here for you.”

Jason squinted more; everything was a little foggy around him, especially stuff far away, and he wanted to know why Bucky was so far away. Normally, it was Bucky who would be bent over him, gently encouraging him; was he ok? “You ‘kay?” he murmured, but Bucky didn’t answer. Jason tried to push himself up. “Bucky?”

Jason didn’t get far; his arm suddenly screamed of pain when he moved, and he collapsed back with a quiet, painful yelp. Sam was pushing the nurse call button, and Steve was talking to him urgently but not panicked.

“Jason, your arms been shattered; you need to lay still. Bucky’s fine, I promise, we’re all just a bit worried about you.” It was a lie, but Steve hoped Bucky would understand; no use upsetting Jason any further.

Jason frowned down at Bucky still; no, no, something was wrong. “Bucky?”

The man suddenly turned and stormed from the room, and Jason frowned after him; what was wrong? He turned his frown to Steve, looking for answers.

But Steve just smiled, and in Jason’s medicated state he couldn’t tell the strain that was there; “it’s ok,” Steve said once more. “He’s pretty upset; I’ll go check on him. Sam’ll stay with you, ok?”

Jason nodded, but reached out with his right hand to grip Steve’s shirt sleeve. “S’not ‘is fault,” he whispered. “He knows ‘at, right?”

Steve smiled again, and slipped from his grip.


	5. Did you think we'd be fine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to do a lot of medical research to keep this as realistic as possible but honestly Im just so tired that I just want to write this story without worrying about being realistic; Im sorry if a) this story is lacking in quality from all the others in this series, and b) if the lack of research annoys anyone.
> 
> With that being said, I still hope you guys enjoy this and Im very thankful for ya'll sticking with this for so long and for giving me some grace during this project <3 It means the world to me!

It was several weeks after that initial awakening; Jason was slowly being weaned off the sedatives, though the hospital had said he would need to stay for at least a month until the pins could be removed from his arm and it could be put into a cast. He wasn’t the most happy about that, but at least he wasn’t bored out of his mind; he slept most of the days away, waking briefly to Sam at his side, occasionally Wanda or Steve or Bucky. There were a few days Peter was there, all smiles and roughened hair.

Today it was Wanda who was there, a pinched look to her face as Jason smacked his lips together; ughh… He must’ve been sleeping with his mouth open because there was a bad taste in his mouth; he pointed floppily towards the water.

“Wanda,” he whined, and she moved steadily to fetch him something to drink. He drank greedily, finally pushing the cup away petulantly; he was hurt and he was totally milking it for all he was worth.

Wanda apparently was not in the mood today as she set the cup down forcefully, causing it to clang against the tabletop; Jason frowned at her playfully, and when she only proceeded to stare at him with an annoyed gaze Jason’s frown turned serious.

“What?” he griped, and Wanda delicately folded a leg over the other.

“Do you even care what’s been happening?”

He furrowed his brows; what was happening? What did she mean? “What are you talking about?”

“I doubt the medication is killing your brain cells so much that you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Jason tried to push himself into a sitting position, but his stab wound was still healing and his arm was too stiff to be of much use; Wanda rolled her eyes and moved the bed into a sitting position for him. “Noticed what?”

“Barnes?” She said his name like it was obvious. “The agents posted around your room?”

He didn’t appreciate her tone; he was an invalid here. She should be compassionate towards him and his injured body; for the love of everything alive and dead, he had been _stabbed_. He pondered pouting to see if she’d calm down, but then realized that might just tick her off more; and he didn’t really have the energy to play games with her. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s happening?”

She shifted. “Jason, Bucky was going to kill you.”

He looked away from her and considered shrugging; instead, he clenched his teeth together.

“He shot Steve twice; there was a code that turned Bucky back into the Winter Soldier. He was going to kill you and Steve.”

Jason still wouldn’t look at her. “What’s Fury gonna do?”

Silence for a moment; “He’s having Bucky go through therapy and an evaluation; since Rumlow is dead, he’s assuming the code died with him.”

The way she said it Jason could tell she was not happy about it; “what do you want him to do?”

The stiffness from her eyes, the cold gaze, shifted; shaken, she breathed out and looked away. “I don’t know.” She pulled her arms close about her and hunched forward some; Jason reached out to hold her hand. “I’m…scared…”

Jason wasn’t sure what he was; in a way, he just wanted to move on from this. His arm was injured; he’d have to go through physical therapy. It brought up bad memories, of his time with Ra’s, of when Al Ghul dragged him out of the Pit; he could feel the heavy confusion and uncertainty surrounding Bucky, the cautious way people moved about him, the sullen way he carried himself. Jason just wanted to move on; he didn’t hold a grudge against Bucky.

Bucky was Bucky, would always be Bucky; Bucky would always be the man in Jason’s fuzzy memories, a quiet rumbly voice, a warmth at his side in an empty hotel room. Bucky would always be the man who respected Jason, who supported him in everything, who offered love and safety when everything got too much. Bucky would always be Jason’s safe place; that was never, ever, going to change.

“I’m scared,” Wanda continued, when Jason didn’t say anything. “What if Rumlow wasn’t the only one? What if there are other Hydra agents out there? What if we lose him forever, the next time it happens?”

“There’s not gonna be a next time.” As if that would ever happen… As if Jason or Steve or Tony or anyone would let that happen; how could she even question that?

“But it could.” She looked at him then, eyes wide and shining. “It did, and we didn’t expect it. It can happen again.”

Jason pulled his hand from her. “No, it won’t.”

She leant away, back into the chair, and just watched him; she didn’t say anything, so Jason looked away in annoyance. It wouldn’t happen again; Bucky would be fine, they all would be fine. “Why didn’t you use your magic?” She didn’t want to hurt Bucky, never. He was as much a victim of Hydra as anyone else; she was confused, scared, unsure. She felt like her world, a once safe place, was crumbling and she was beginning to question herself.

He whipped his gaze back at her. “What?”

Her gaze was calculating; “your magic is there to protect you; why didn’t you use it?”

Jason huffed a laugh, though amusement was certainly not there. “I don’t even know what my magic can do! Wanda, the most it’s ever done is _destroy_.”

It was true; any training sessions he’d had with Wanda about his magic had left the targets in shattered pieces scattered about the room, some even completely missing with no trace of where they’d gone. He wasn’t about to use that on anyone he loved, especially not Bucky.

“It could have protected you.” To Wanda, however, magic was there to be used, a feeling in her veins, a part of her flesh, an extension of her being; it was malleable, dangerous but only if used to be so. It was a helper, not a hindrance... Though what good it did for her when she launched Rumlow into the air, only to have him blow up a building, killing innocents.

“It could’ve hurt him!”

Wanda still found it hard to understand, despite _understanding_ ; Jason had had enough.

“When’s Peter coming by?”

“In an hour,” she said quietly; the atmosphere had shifted. Jason had clammed up; he’d been doing that a lot lately.

“Then you don’t have to be here any longer; I’ll be fine until Peter arrives.” When she didn’t move, Jason rolled his eyes. “Go away, Wanda; I don’t want you here right now.”

She stood with ease, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt, and glanced at Jason once more. She was frustrated, and she wanted to…be mean. She wanted to be vicious. “Fury may not be doing something, but Tony is.” She turned on her heel and left.

By the time Peter arrived an hour later, Jason was still fuming; he was slumped in his bed, tired but angry, glaring at the wall in front of him. The tv played quietly in the background, and Peter’s smile slipped into a frown.

“What happened?” He pulled the chair Wanda had been using closer to the bed and settled his arms on the bed, resting his chin on them; Peter pulled on his best sympathetic look, which Harry called his ‘puppy dog look’. It never failed to make Harry happy, so maybe it’d work on Jason too.

“My family is full of idiots.”

Peter huffed a laugh through his nose. “Yeah? Which one is idiotic today? Clint? Wait, is it Tim? Did he forget hacking into your phone is not an appropriate way to keep tabs on you?”

That got a smile out of Jason, however small. “Wanda’s just…frustrating.”

Peter patted Jason’s shoulder, glancing briefly up at the bag of morphine when Jason yawned. “Want to talk about it?”

When Jason shifted further beneath the blankets, Peter tried to make sense of the tubes and wires to make him more comfortable. “She said that Tony’s up t’something.” He squinted at Peter. “Want to be my spy?”

“Love to,” Peter said with a grin.

It was only after Jason had fallen asleep, and Peter had slipped out into the hall, did he realize subtlety was not his strong point; he left the hospital behind, eyeing the Shield agents standing near Jason’s room, and only once he was out on the street did he realize he had no idea how to go about this in a spy-fashion.

He wasn’t exactly the most socially adept teenager on the block; that was more Harry’s strong suit. With a sigh, Peter hailed a taxi and made his way to Stark Tower; when he arrived, Friday—the new AI of Stark’s—allowed him entrance inside.

“Everyone is gathered on the social floor,” the disembodied female voice spoke as Peter waited in the elevator. “There has been a gathering to discuss Avenger issues.”

Peter tipped his head to the side; “Avenger issues? Is there an attack?”

“Negative,” Friday answered, and said nothing else; Peter waited quietly.

When the doors dinged open he thought maybe Friday had been wrong; there was screaming, loud and terrified, and there was crashing and burning. He hurried in, messenger bag slapping against his thigh as he moved fast.

“Steve? Wanda!”

The noises stopped shortly after and Peter entered the dining room—to absolutely no threat. There was a strange man standing by a large television that was paused on shots from Lagos, and around the long table was—pretty much everyone. There was Tony who was hiding tiredly behind his hand, there was Wanda who was pale and looked vaguely sick, Steve who looked coldly perturbed, Natasha and Vision who were as always hard to read. Even Rhodey and Sam were present, both looking slightly irritated and rather confused.

Peter pulled an embarrassed face; “Uhh, sorry,” he muttered.

Tony heaved a breath and indicated a seat; “we’re in the middle of something, Parker, so if you’d take a seat and be quiet.”

Peter slid into a seat besides Wanda; he glimpsed the screen as he sat and spotted a gruesome scene, bodies and blood and crying people—and a fuzzy person to the side looked oddly like Wanda, bent over another fuzzy person that Peter couldn’t identify. He bumped his knee with Wanda’s, encouraging and hopefully supportive.

“Ross,” Tony continued. “Why don’t you get to the point of you being here?”

Ross, the stranger, cleared his throat and turned to a brief case; “the building you blew up in Lagos housed several Wakandan humanitarian workers; on top of this, as you have seen, the destruction from Ultron and in New York from the alien attack is extensive. We are still working to clear up those messes and the missing persons list is growing almost as fast as the death list.”

Wanda’s breathing hitched, and Peter momentarily wondered where Clint was; he tried to turn further towards Wanda, wanting to offer her comfort in some manner, but any further and he wouldn’t be able to watch Ross. And, for whatever reason, Peter felt uneasy around Ross.

The secretary pulled out a lengthy stack of paperwork and settled it on the table; Tony stood and made his way besides Ross. “These are the Sokovian Accords; they, in short terms, will establish a UN panel to oversee your work.”

“We already have Shield.”

Peter startled; he hadn’t noticed Bucky in the corner, in the shadows, at the back of the room. Bucky didn’t look happy, nor well; he looked tired and dirty, as if he had just been for the run or had been dragged from the gym and as if he hadn’t been sleeping well at all. Peter wondered if he stayed the night at the hospital with Jason, then remembered Jason saying Bucky was a rare sight. That’d also need investigating.

“Shield has given you too much leniency for the damage you’ve dealt; besides all the other drama of Hydra agents working within your Shield.” Ross eyed Natasha, who tipped her head in a dare. “Among other unsavory agents within your group.”

“What do the accords say?” That was Steve, not sounding exceptionally happy about the whole thing.

“The United Nations panel will review whatever threat has presented itself and dictate how to go about the situation.”

Natasha tutted, but didn’t say anything; Sam spoke up. “Wasn’t that what Shield was for? They oversaw what we did and helped in any way possible.”

“Except this is less help and more a leash,” Bucky spoke, and Steve continued “Isn’t it, Secretary of State?”

Ross eyed everyone in turn, even Peter. “The Accords have statements in place in case you go off mission, or are overly destructive, or go on a mission without permission; basically, if you go against the panel or the Accords, you will be subject to punishment. We are doing this,” his voice rose as Wanda did, hurrying from the room with a frustrated and sickened noise. “For the safety of civilians! Civilians you’ve killed!”

“That’s enough!” Steve stood too, and Peter shrank further into his seat. “We will look over your Accords. But until then, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Not even Tony muttering _“this is my tower”_ would stop Steve at this point; Peter pulled his phone out to start taking notes for Jason. This was not going to be pretty.


	6. Now it's all rusted

“We were formed to protect to the best of our ability!”

“What do you know? You weren’t an original member!”

“And neither were you, Rhodey; I mean, come on, how is this even going to work?” Sam motioned around the room, as if asking for help from anyone. “What happens to Shield?”

Steve, who had been calmly flipping through the pages and reading every word, took a deep and highly disturbed breath. “Looks like they plan on disbanding Shield.”

“They can’t do that.” As soon as he said it, Peter pressed his lips together and fiddled with his bag strap, wishing he hadn’t said anything. “Can they?” he squeaked as an afterthought.

“Apparently they can; this is more political than we first thought.”

“How can it be more political? The goddamn secretary of state was standing in our dining room, Steve!”

“Technically,” Natasha piped up, “it’s Tony’s dining room; right, Tony?”

Peter eyed the scientist next to him; Tony hadn’t said anything since they’d moved into the living room. He’d slumped onto the couch, sinking further and further towards the floor as everyone continued to argue and discuss the Accords. He was still hiding behind his hand and looked simultaneously bored and depressed. He eyed Natasha through his fingers.

“You haven’t said much.” It was her tone; she knew something, and Peter once more glanced at the doorway; where had Wanda gone off to? “Is it maybe because you’ve already made a decision?”

Tony heaved a sigh, heaved another one as he stood, and began speaking as he moved into the open kitchen. “Addison Triggon.” He pulled ice from the freezer, a glass from the cupboard, and Peter glanced around to see if he should recognize the name; Tony balanced a picture on the counter against the blender. “That’s Addison Triggon; a young college kid who had gone out to Sokovia to help build houses for the homeless; he was killed when Ultron attacked.” With an alcoholic drink in hand, Tony snatched the photo again. “Albert Standon, an 82 year old retired Veteran, died in New York City Square; Luisa Samson, 32 year old mother of four, crushed in falling debris in Sokovia; Gigi Ottoto, 13 years old, killed in the explosion in Lagos.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably and fumbled with his phone; it was tragic.

“There are thousands upon thousands of others we’ve killed,” Tony accused. “So, yes, I’ve already signed the Accords. We need to be monitored.”

“We are, by Shield; what the Accords want is to make us into a weapon.”

Tony drank heavily from his glass. “Are we not? You and your boyfriend are walking super soldiers, capsicle! Natasha is a government trained assassin, Jason was trained from a young age to fight crime; how are we not weapons already?”

“How many,” it was Sam this time, “more lives do you think would have been lost if a panel had sat deliberating on whether or not you should have responded to an alien invasion?”

“Thor wouldn’t stand for this,” Peter squeaked, eyeing the door again; where the hell was Wanda?

“How many more would have been saved if our powers had been held in check?!”

“I agree with Tony,” Natasha spoke steadily. “We’re deadly; there have to be precautions in place.”

Tony waved a hand at Nat as if to say thank you; Steve still flipped through the Accords document, and Bucky sat broodily in the corner. Peter looked at the door again when no one said anything for a while; finally, Sam took a deep and angry sounding breath.

“What do you think, Parker?”

Peter jolted. “Me?”

Sam nodded and Rhodey rolled his eyes; “The kid hasn’t been in the business we have.”

He thought of his uncle a hidden unitard in his aunt’s ceiling; Tony’s eyes twinkled as he poured himself another glass of scotch. “No, I want to hear what Peter has to say.”

Peter gaped; he started saying something multiple times, all eyes on his, even the clever Vision’s unnerving him. Finally, Peter swallowed. “I think I should go check on Wanda.”

He rose quickly and scuttled out the door to voices raising in argument once more; the voices faded as he trekked around the communal floor. With no sight of Wanda, he took the elevator up to Clint and Natasha’s floor; Friday gave him admittance onto the floor, and he slipped his messenger bag to the floor quietly. There was a murmuring down the hallway, and Peter followed it.

“Wanda?”

_“In total, forty-seven people were lost and a multitude of others are critically injured or have been maimed.”_

Peter poked his head around the doorway; the tv was playing quietly, and Wanda was sitting cross legged on her bed cradling the remote in her lap. She was curled into herself, one hand rubbing at her shoulder absent mindedly. The tv was, again, showing scenes from Lagos.

“Wanda?” he called again, louder, and she tipped her head; he stepped hesitantly closer. “Are you okay?”

She turned back to the tv and turned the volume up and then, when Peter took a seat on her bed, she turned it down. “I did that,” she nearly whispered, and Peter glanced at the screen; it was really gruesome and he wondered how media could even show those images without blurring them out. “I did that, Peter.”

He thought for a moment, stringing words together in what he hoped would be comfort. “Okay,” he started, side-eyeing the television again. “But that’s not what you wanted to do; and beyond that, I see a mother in the corner hugging her daughter; and I know Jason’s in the hospital instead of in the ground.” The _again_ was unspoken. “Steve is still alive, and hundreds of others are too.”

Wanda wiped a tear away; “Magic is supposed to help, Peter; I couldn’t help those people in the building. I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t strong enough…” she buried her face in her hands and Peter deftly shut off the news station. “And I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Everything.” She looked at him; her eyes shone with tears. “I don’t understand why I couldn’t save them; I don’t understand why Jason didn’t use his magic to protect him. I don’t understand why Bucky would attack his family.”

Peter settled a hand on her back and smoothed it across her shoulder blades. “You did the best you could, and that’s all you can do, Wanda; you saved so many others. You protected your family as best you could.”

She sobbed out a laugh; “I can’t protect my family! I never have been able to!”

“Wanda,” he started slowly, remembering Uncle Ben’s face, blinking away Gwen’s smile. “It’s not your fault. Pietro’s not your fault.”

She stood with another sob, moving away from him, so he hurried on; away from painful memories.

“And Jason… Jason’s not like you; he hasn’t had magic for long, he’s tentative about it.” Peter was speculating, but he was pretty sure he was speculating correctly. “It’s largely untested.”

“It’s not about testing!” She rubbed her temple. “It’s supposed to be natural, to be like another appendage, an extension of oneself; it’s supposed to react immediately, to be strong.”

Peter stood and turned her towards him, pulling her into a hug; he didn’t know what else to do. “Wanda…”

“It’s all falling apart,” she spoke thickly. “Clint left; he and Nat have been arguing. Bruce has been gone since Ultron, and Thor too; it’s all falling apart.”

They hugged for a while longer, before moving back towards the bed. “Jason’s as confused as you, Wanda; it’s falling apart for him too.”

She nodded and plucked at her bedspread. “I know; I… I shouldn’t have been so forceful earlier. I should have explained myself better.”

He shrugged. “It happens; but it’d be good to hear from you that you guys are still friends.”

“We’ll always be; he could walk off a bridge and I’d follow.”

Peter wasn’t sure how to feel about that; he shook his head. “I’m sorry things are falling apart right now; I’m sorry you don’t feel safe or stable.”

She smiled warmly at him, thankful for his sympathy.

“Wanda?” Vision’s voice called out as he phased through the wall, and both Wanda and Peter jumped; Wanda’s hand flew to her chest and she laughed wetly.

“Vis,” she chastised. “We’ve talked about this; use the door next time.” But her smile was fond and Peter hid a grin.

“But the door was open; I assumed I could just…” He motioned at the wall.

Wanda shook her head, still smiling, and Peter stood. “I should get back to Jason.”

“Tell him I am sorry?” she asked and Peter nodded.

“Sure.” He smiled at Vision as he headed for the doorway. “It’s ok, you’ll get the hang of doors.”

Vision smiled warmly, sitting awkwardly on Wanda’s bed; as Peter walked down the hallway he heard him ask “are you alright?” and smiled; they were crushing so hard. He snatched his bag and headed back to the hospital to report in.

He had plugged into his ipod and was pulling the earbuds out when he shouldered Jason’s door open; he stuttered in his walking when he spotted Harry flipping through a magazine, leaning against the window sill. “Harry?”

He looked up. “You weren’t answering your phone so I came looking for you.”

Peter shuffled through his bag and pulled his phone; ahh, yeah, four missed calls from Harry Osborn. He gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry.” He glanced over at Jason. “How’s he been?”

“Woke up for a few hours; we talked.”

Peter stepped closer to Harry. “Yeah, but how was he?”

“Frustrated, tired; I asked him how Bucky was doing and he clammed right up.”

Peter heaved a sigh. “Sounds about right…” He’d only been able to piece things together from things Wanda and Natasha had said; it was as if Jason refused to say _‘Bucky hurt me’_. Peter sighed again. “I should be heading home soon, plus visitor hours are going to end in a little bit.” He made his way to Jason’s side and touched his shoulder. “Jay? Jason, wake up for a minute.”

He came to slowly again, and Peter glanced at his morphine IV; Jason grinned at Peter. “Hey; did you find stuff out?”

“Later,” Peter promised; he patted Jason’s shoulder. “They’re going to kick us out in a bit; anything you need?”

Jason glanced over at Harry, who’d returned to his tabloid, and shook his head. “No; thanks, Peter.”

“Ah, Wanda wanted me to let you know she’s sorry; she’s working through some stuff and took it out on you.”

He smiled again and snuggled deeper beneath the blankets; Peter tucked them in. “She doing better?”

He thought of Vision sitting with her; “I think she will be.”

Jason hummed, and Peter and Harry bid him goodbye when he started drifting off to sleep again. The following day, Peter got a text from Jason; it was short, clipped.

_Peggy died_

Peter didn’t answer immediately; he took a seat at his aunt’s breakfast table and buried his face in his hands. How much could a person lose before they went insane? Before they snapped? Before they broke? Not just Jason, but Steve and Bucky; losing security, safety, normalcy. Aunt May settled a hand on his shoulder.

“Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay,” he choked out. “I’m okay, Aunt May, just…”

“Give you a second?”

He nodded, and she slipped away back to the stove. A moment later, he scrubbed his face and picked up his phone.

_want to talk?_

The answer was immediate.

 _Died in her sleep_  
peacefully  
old age…  
funeral next week

Peter buried his face in his hands again.


	7. Used To Be Mad Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're slowly making our way into the action packed plot, and McDouche Ross can go suck on an egg

Jason was weaned off the morphine and other pain killers as the week went by, and his mood soured with the loss of ‘happy drugs’, as Harry had dubbed them; he snapped frequently, and Wanda would eventually plop besides him in bed and cuffed his ears in punishment.

The day of Peggy’s funeral was quiet; he couldn’t make it, and Sam was accompanying Steve and Bucky, while Natasha prepared for the Accords meeting only two days afterwards. That left very few people to keep Jason company, especially considering how divided the Avengers were currently; so Wanda slipped out of the Tower early, sneaking into the hospital shortly after the sun rose.

Jason was already awake, glaring out the doorway, and she smiled at him. “Didn’t have a good night?”

“The pins come out tomorrow.” Modern medicine could be amazing. “And I hate hospitals.” He turned his glare at the IV drip of fluids, and Wanda observed the line, calculating.

“I could take it out,” she offered, and Jason nodded eagerly; she assessed the pick line into his arm, closed the IV line near the bag, and unscrewed the device from the pick line. She shoved the entire stand in the corner and Jason glared at it, scratching absentmindedly at the line still in his arm; she gently took his hand in hers. “Don’t do that; you’ll irritate yourself more.”

He glared back out the doorway. “It’s Peggy’s funeral today.”

She hummed quietly.

“I should be there.”

She hummed again. “Sam is there.”

“I should be there…” It was less his need to grieve, as he’d only met Peggy once when Steve visited her and only heard stories, and more his want to support his caretakers.

Wanda sighed; she understood but Jason was getting worse and worse about communication. “Steve said they would stop by after the funeral; they’ll be alright.”

Again, silence, the only sound that of early morning hospital staff shuffling down the halls; Jason glanced at Wanda and squeezed her hand. “I want to go home; I want to be with my…” he swallowed down family. “I want to be with everyone.”

“Doubtful; the tower has been divided since the Accords were presented.”

“Peter told me about it; that’s fucking stupid. They want to make us weapons; they want to control us.”

Wanda shrugged; she wasn’t sure how she felt about the entire thing. On one hand, she was dangerous, they all were, and the safety of the citizens was important; on the other hand, as Steve had said, they weren’t pawns. They shouldn’t be feared so much that they had to be repressed, and the dangers of having a panel deliberate over an emergency. She took a breath, and watched Jason do the same.

This was going to be tough.

Sure enough, Steve and Bucky showed up several long hours later and Wanda handed her deck of go-fish cards to Steve and excused herself; Bucky took up silent vigil besides Jason’s bed.

“How are you?” Bucky asked as Jason did the same; Jason grinned, but Bucky’s returning grin lacked much life.

“I’m okay; a little sore,” Jason answered, rubbing around the stab wound; the stitches would have to stay in for a while longer, but at least he would gain more mobility with his arm tomorrow. “How are you guys?”

Steve smiled and set a pair of matching cards down; “It was tough, but... We’ll be fine.”

Jason looked at his cards, then glanced at Bucky. “You sure?”

Bucky reached out and ruffled his hair, then pulled back quickly when he realized he was using his metal arm. “We’re sure, kiddo.”

They talked for a while longer, Steve and Bucky occasionally falling silent and Jason would let them be, worriedly glaring down at his casted arm; finally, when they both had to leave, Jason reached out and snagged Steve’s sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About Peggy, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you guys today.”

Steve smiled and gave Jason a quick hug. “We’ll be okay; we’ll come back tomorrow after your pins are removed.”

The days passed slowly; Jason’s pins were removed, and the doctors started him on short bursts of therapy to help him heal faster. Bucky or Steve would keep him company most days, and come the day of the Accords signing, Natasha stopped by to say goodbye.

It was early morning, way before the sun was going to rise, and she didn’t wake him, only leaving a container of homemade molasses cookies on the bedside table; Jason hid them so no one would steal or eat them. He wanted them all to himself; Sam was coming by today to keep him company, and the day passed like any other.

He played chess against Sam, and they discussed the motifs in Kate Chopin’s _The Awakening_ ; come early afternoon, shortly after Jason’s painful and exhausting physical therapy session, Steve and Bucky stopped by. Jason was napping, as he did most of the time in this boring place, and Sam was flipping casually through Chopin’s novel. He looked up when Steve and Bucky slipped in.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly, shifting in his chair. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” Bucky set a bag of Chinese takeout on the bedside table; he eyed the cookie crumbs there. “We brought some Chinese food for a late lunch.”

Steve jutted his chin at Jason, ignoring the tv quietly droning on about the Accords meeting. “How was therapy?”

“He came back grumpy and tired.” Sam chuckled quietly, accepting a container of fried rice from Bucky. “Been sleeping ever since.”

They ate quietly, occasionally mumbling a topic or comment about the Accords; things were normal until Bucky stood to deposit their used napkins and plastic utensils in the garbage. It was the flickering difference, the panicked swing of a camera, on the television that alerted Steve, and then Sam, that something was wrong; Steve stood slowly, tensing.

“Turn the volume up.”

Sam did, and they could hear panicked screaming and the sound of burning metal and crashing cars. “What the hell happened?”

Bucky eased his way past Sam and Steve and took up a protective position next to Jason; whatever was happening wasn’t good. “Should we go check it out?”

Steve shook his head, furrowed gaze still on the television as the news caster came on and said something about a bomb. “Shield doesn’t have any operational carriers and a plan would take too long.”

“Nat’s there.”

Bucky glanced at Jason, who was still sleeping, and then back at Steve. “Give her a call, Steve.”

They tried to contact her, with no luck, and they stayed huddled quietly in Jason’s hospital room; when he woke up, they gave him a plate of sweet and sour chicken with white rice and, as an unspoken agreement, did not bring up the bombing nor allowed him to turn on the tv. They stayed there overnight too, Jason sharing his bed with Steve, Sam taking the armchair, and Bucky curling up in the other available armchair.

Come the morning, with Jason still fast asleep and the others having not gotten much rest, they turned on the news; and there, plastered all over ever channel from low resolution security cameras, was Bucky’s face.

“It has been confirmed,” announced varying voices across many channels, “that the bomb had been planted by James Barnes, one of the Avengers who apparently strongly opposed the UN Panel and Sokovian Accords; James Barnes fights under the pseudonym of Spectral, alongside Captain America. Terrorism from the inside? What might have motivated such a violent attack? Could his ties with Hydra still persist?”

Sam eyed Bucky. “You didn’t plant that bomb, right?” Bucky glared, but Sam continued. “And unless you have a twin, I’ll bet Redwing Ross’s got a score of soldiers headed over here to arrest you.”

Steve and Bucky went for their jackets, shrugging into them, and Steve pulled a baseball cap over Bucky’s head, shoving his hair under it. “We have to move.”

Bucky glanced at Jason. “I didn’t do it.”

“That’s why we’re going to figure out who did,” Steve promised; he turned to Sam. “Watch Jason; we’ll be back within a few days.”

Sam nodded; “go!”

And they disappeared out the door; they hurried through the halls, to the elevators, passing by patrons and nurses, skirting around dinner carts and wheelchairs and IV poles. Around a corner, the elevators came into view and as they approached the doors hissed open, showing Ross and a platoon of soldiers in what looked like riot gear.

Steve and Bucky diverted easily into the crowd near the waiting chairs, and Steve turned Bucky towards him, shielding his partner with his broad body. “Act natural,” he said, mind racing; Natasha had taught him to blend in. “Act like we’ve just got some bad news.”

“I think being framed for killing the Wakanda king is pretty bad news.”

Steve took a breath; he could feel Ross’s presence at his back. “Act like you’ve just heard bad news related to the location; act like you’ve just heard Jason’s dead.”

Bucky’s face and body language morphed into disbelief and slight anger, accompanied by the littlest bit of grief at that thought, and Steve thought _that’ll do_ before pulling Bucky to him; he positioned them so Bucky could just barely see over his shoulder, partially hidden against his body.

“Tell me when they leave,” he muttered against Bucky’s scalp, and Bucky’s eyes trailed Ross’s band until they disappeared down the hall.

“Gone,” he announced, and Steve took his hand and they raced down the stairs, soon lost in New York’s busy streets.

Back in Jason’s hospital room, he was rudely awoken by the door being kicked off its hinges and a platoon of soldiers rushing in; a pair slammed Sam onto the ground, pinning his arms behind his back and pressing his cheek into the grungy floor. A set of hands grappled for Jason who, still half asleep, swore in alarm and kicked and flailed.

“Lemme go!” He cried, kicking at the blankets, only succeeding in getting more tangled, and flailed with his casted arm. “Get off me!” Panic coursed through his veins, leaking into his voice, and over the clamor he heard Sam’s voice rising and latched onto it; it was calm, soothing, instructional.

“Jason! Jason, I need you to relax; take a deep breath and stop struggling.” Sam called out; he could just barely see Jason struggling out of the corner of his eye. His shoulders were burning from the contorted way he was being held, but right now he was mostly worried about Jason being hurt in the struggle. Out in the hallway, a nurse cried out for help, for security, for a doctor. “Jason! You’re safe; this is, albeit horrible, protocol.”

“Shut up!” One of the soldiers snarled, but Sam ignored him.

“One breath in, and exhale the tension, buddy.”

Jason slowly stilled, though he stayed tense, wide eyes glaring at the emotionless riot helmets strapped tight around these strangers’ faces; they dragged him from the bed and pinned him in the corner, ignoring his groans of pain or the occasional indignant cry from being manhandled, and Jason worked to steady his breathing. He focused on counting and then recounting each person in the room; it kept him grounded, kept him from frustrated tears or horrible memories from Ra’s compound, when masked assassins had tried to ‘awaken’ his fighting instincts through threatening means, to test if all of him had been spit out of the Pit.

He hadn’t thought of Ra’s compound in ages, and he scrubbed his eyes furiously, slipping to the ground to curl upon himself. He didn’t know why these soldiers were here, he didn’t know why they had manhandled him from his bed and into the corner, and he hated hospitals; he was tired and sore and just wanted to go home where it was safe, but even that safety was rocky right now.

“Can you give him some space?” Sam called, still pinned to the ground as Ross and his cohorts went through every inch of the room; in the corner, there were two soldiers looming over Jason, assigned to keep him in line. “He’s fighting a panic attack and needs some space.”

A soldier wrenched open the linen closet door and it bounced against the wall, causing Jason to jump; Sam tested the grip they had on him.

“Jason, focus on my voice; just breathe.” He turned his attention to Ross. “They aren’t here.”

Ross glared at him, and then motioned for his soldiers to move away; immediately, Sam stood and stepped slightly closer to Jason, not wanting to crowd him but wanting to be close in case he was needed. “Where did they go? We know they were here, now where did Rogers and Barnes go?”

Jason banged his head against the wall, and Sam glanced at him briefly. “We don’t know.”

“Why do you want to know?” for his annoyed tone Jason’s voice was still slightly thready. “What the fuck is going on?”

Ross crossed his arms. “Mr Barnes is wanted for multiple murders, including the murder of the Wakandan king T’Chaka.”

Jason flailed his arms, hands upwards, and his wide eyes roved around the room. “What the fuck?”

“Ok,” Sam stepped closer to Jason. “If you’re done here,” Sam continued, “you need to leave.”

“What is going on?” Wanda stood in the doorway, Vision shadowing behind her, and she flapped a hand about the practically destroyed room; “What is this?” Her hand sparked red and Vision reached out to clasp her wrist, to still her.

Ross waved the soldiers out the door, and they shoved past the pair there; he nodded at the teenagers. “Official business, ma’am.” He tried to move past her, but she expertly stepped in his way.

“I am making it my business,” she snarled; Vision tried to pull her aside, but ultimately it was Jason who got her to move.

“They’re looking for Steve and Bucky.”

Her eyes shot from Jason, still curled in the corner, to Ross; she rose a brow at him, taking a step to the side. As Ross breezed past her, she spoke once more: “You won’t find them.”

He pivoted, watching her with a calculating gaze; she shook her head.

“You will never find them.”

“We’ll see…ma’am.”

With Ross and his men gone, and the nurses and doctors hovering on the edge of the door, Wanda marched into the room and straight to Jason; she knelt in front of him and took a shaky breath. “Are you alright?”

He turned a tired but determined gaze on her. “I want to go home, and I want to know what the hell’s going on.”


	8. Take a look what you've done

To say Jason was livid would be an understatement; he was so angry he was beyond livid. He was calm, he was collected, he was murderous.

“Why aren’t we going after them?”

Wanda rubbed her hands together, leaning further forward in her chair; she’d convinced Sam to check Jason out, to force the doctors to sign his release papers. And by convinced, Jason really meant she yelled at him in German until Sam held his hands up and went in search of a doctor. So now Jason was glaring from where he’d curled up in her bed and she was sitting in a chair that she kept tucked in the corner; today she’d forgone her miniskirts and dresses for a pair of skinny jeans and a soft brown jacket, contrasted heavily with Jason’s ripped pair of sweats and oversized t-shirt.

“I do not know,” she said. “This has all happened…overnight. All I know is they have Bucky on camera planting the bomb that blew up the Accords meeting; and now Steve and Bucky are missing.”

“They were with me last night.” Jason rubbed his nose; god, he wanted to punch someone. He wanted to punch Ross, wanted to punch Rumlow, wanted to punch everyone in Hydra. “We had Chinese food and talked about going for a road trip when I got out of the hospital.”

“They will be back, Jason; they wouldn’t just leave you.”

Jason glared out her bedroom window. “And we know Bucky wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t kill people.”

Wanda didn’t say anything, but she did eventually nod.

“I want to go after them; I should’ve gone with them.”

“A day; we’ll give them a day, to see how this is going to turn out. Yes?”

“Ross is going to send the fucking army after them.”

Wanda brushed a hand through her hair; “It will blow over.” She wanted to believe it would be so; she wanted to believe that things would go back to the way they had been, when Clint and Natasha hadn’t had that huge argument, long before Clint had disappeared, when Bruce had left, when Tony had quietly went about forming the Sokovian Accords, go back to when Bucky was confident and Jason was happy.

“If they don’t call us,” Jason articulated carefully, “within a day, we’re tracking them down.”

She knew better than to ask how they would do that; if Jason said they were going to track his caretakers down, they would do so no matter what.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, they didn’t have to; Steve and Bucky didn’t get very far before Black Panther tracked them down, accompanied by Ross’ own soldiers. Safe houses weren’t hard to find, a habit Bucky hadn’t let go since he went on the run from Hydra with Jason, and he and Steve had gone to ground in one in a busy city on the outskirts of Metropolis. Unfortunately, it wasn’t safe enough.

Within 24 hours, their door was being kicked down by Ross’ soldiers and Steve only barely had time to grab his shield and wrap Bucky in his arms before they were firing off their weapons.

“Go!” Steve shouted during a lull in the gunfire, and Bucky listened.

He took hold of a chair and chucked it at a soldier that had just stepped inside the door and, while the enemy was distracted, went to his knees and broke the flooring to reach his hidden emergency stash. A heavy duty backpack, packed with nonperishable foodstuffs and various weapons, was wrenched free and quickly thrown on while Steve squeezed out into the hallway to draw the soldiers’ attention.

“Go!” He shouted once more as he was pushed back into the apartment; neither one had protective armor, and though they both had their signature weapons—Steve’s shield and Bucky’s arm—it wouldn’t be enough against the lethal force of Ross’ crew.

Bucky sprinted for the window, leapt, and prepared for the calculated tuck and roll he’d have to do on the other building’s roof; he never had to do it though. As Steve planted a foot on the window sill to follow, a being in a black and silver suit slammed into Bucky and brought him to ground in an uncoordinated fall. While Bucky rolled with his momentum, the stranger—a lithe but strong man, the Black Panther—twisted expertly and sunk his claws into the rooftop.

While Bucky got his feet beneath him, Black Panther advanced and drew his claws out; Bucky took one glance at him, and turned and ran. The fight didn’t matter; what did was running away, and collecting information on his innocence. That too was in the backpack, copies of the security camera and files on the explosion, the delegates attending the Panel, various other information they’d poured over for hours.

Beyond trying to prove Bucky’s innocence, they had to catch the perpetrator.

Except as Bucky ran, so did Black Panther, and he swiped at Bucky with his sharp claws; the backpack caught the brunt of the attack, and Bucky felt several items fall out. He swore under his breath and wrenched free from Black Panther’s grip, throwing a punch with his non-arm just in time to make him stumble for Steve to collapse on top of him.

His leap from the window had brought him down to their level, specifically aimed to land atop Black Panther and give Bucky a chance to escape; they had time. The soldiers were regrouping and would be back on their tail soon, so Bucky had to get out of there—fast. So Bucky ran, and Steve held his shield out to block an attack from Black Panther; the panther’s nails screeched down the mental, ripping off the paint, and Steve grit his teeth. The man was strong, determined, and when the opportunity arose Steve threw a punch.

“Why are you after us?” he asked, not really expecting an answer, but the man cracked his neck and took a step forward.

“You took something from me,” the man snarled, and when the soldiers—who’d recovered and found sniping positions—opened fire on the pair Black Panther went after Bucky in the chaos. He raced down the stairwell Bucky had used, onto the street, and hurried to catch up with the once Winter Soldier; Bucky had commandeered a motorcycle, easy to maneuver and fast through traffic, and yet Black Panther was on him in an instant.

With a ferocious yell, Black Panther launched at Bucky, knocking him from the bike, and they rolled along the pavement again; Black Panther stood about the man, watching him lift his arms in an attempt to shield himself, and hesitated only momentarily at the fear and confusion in his eyes.

But that was all Steve needed; Captain America had caught up to them, despite the soldiers trying to block and subdue him, and he raced forward in that split moment of hesitation to tackle Black Panther off his lover. It ended in a stand-off between the three of them, with cars screeching to a halt and crashing behind them, each one staring the other down.

It all came to a head when Iron Patriot and Iron Man slammed down on the roadways, cracking the pavement, and Steve held his shield firmly in front of him; the soldiers and police surrounded them, jumping out and drawing their weapons; Patriot pulled his own weapons out, aiming at all three of them at once, while Tony held a hand out to the soldiers as if to say stand down.

“Cap,” Tony greeted coldly, while Rhodey spoke authoritatively.

“We’re all going to take a deep breath and stand down,” he ordered, though Steve didn’t budge; Bucky was still getting his bearings, laying on his back on the roadway and staring up at the clear blue sky. “Steve.”

Black Panther retracted his claws, reached up, and removed his mask to reveal his identity as the Wakandan prince T’challa.

“I was given a short window to take you in, as friends, Cap.”

Steve glanced about, still standing over Bucky as he stumbled to his feet. “This doesn’t seem very friendly.”

Tony brushed a hand across the scene, across the soldiers and Black Panther. “Yeah, okay, but this is the friendliest we can be in regards to what’s happened.”

“Bucky didn’t plant that bomb, Tony.”

Even though the face plate was down, Steve could imagine Tony’s pained and annoyed expression. “At this point, we don’t know what he’s capable of; put the shield down, Steve.”

Bucky, heaving breaths besides Steve, lowered his shoulders and nodded subtly; Steve only caught it because he was in tuned with Bucky, especially more so now that everything was falling apart, and he shifted out of his battle stance and let his shield clang to the ground.

Before the soldiers could snap handcuffs on any of them, a gust of wind and the sudden shaking of the ground announced the arrival of one very curious and angry Superman; he rose from his superhero landing with a stony gaze.

“You are near my city, Avengers; I believed there was an unspoken agreement of not crossing into each other’s territory. The League will hear of this, Iron Man, Captain America, Spectral.”

Iron Man turned away, then back, obviously annoyed. “Sure, Supes, but we’re going through a transitional time right now and things are a little crazy; I’m sure you’ll give us some grace.”

Superman motioned back to the traffic jam and accidents they had caused; “Thirteen people have had to be rushed to the hospital; this can’t be ignored.”

“Take it up with the Panel,” Rhodey spoke.

Superman eyed each one in turn, lingering more on Steve and Bucky. “Be out of my city by sundown.” With one more lingering glance, Superman turned towards the crashed vehicles to offer his assistance.

Each one was taken into custody, even the prince of Wakanda, who stoically allowed the soldiers to chain him with handcuffs; oddly enough, Steve had a feeling they wouldn’t be much help in keeping T’challa down. They were escorted to a police vehicle, while Bucky was led away to a more secure military truck, reinforced doors and locks holding him in the back; Superman spoke briefly with Iron Patriot again before taking off, and then the procession was underway to return Steve and Bucky and T’challa to New York and Ross’ custody.

“I understand he is your lover, Mr Rogers,” T’challa spoke; his tone was regal and venomous. “and I understand your want to protect him; but you are an intelligent man and must also understand the reason for justice.”

Steve eyed the prince. “I know about your father, and I’m sorry; but Bucky didn’t do it.”

Without missing a beat, the man responded. “Your Winter Soldier killed my father at the Panel.”

Steve glanced out the window, at the vehicle that was transporting Bucky in a reinforced container, wrapped in chains and dangerous deterrents. “He’s not the Winter Soldier; not anymore.”

“Names can change.”

With a distasteful glance to the sky, where Iron Man and the Iron Patriot could just barely be seen, Steve responded “so can people.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER: Jason curses Ross, yells at T'challa, and tries to punch them both; also, Superman calls Batman and Tim gets worried


	9. Live With Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied the slightest bit about Jason only trying to punch T'challa and Ross...

When Tim approached Bruce, it was out of curiosity and worry; Bruce had been on the phone for a while, handing off the requests for a Stasis from multiple hospitals for Tim to look over, and his face continued to pinch more and more into a worried frown. There was really only one person who could cause so much turmoil on Bruce’s face and that was normally not a good sign.

“Alright,” Bruce spoke as Tim drew nearer, “thank you for calling me, Clark; I appreciate it.” He hung up and took the request forms from Tim, shuffling through them.

“What’s going on?”

“Seems there’s some strange things going on with the Avengers.”

Tim knew from his tone he didn’t plan to talk about it more, but Tim wanted information. “Is Jason ok?”

Bruce heaved a sigh, glancing at Tim over the top of the papers. “Clark said it appeared Captain America and Spectral were being…arrested by the other Avengers. And no,” Bruce cut Tim off before he could finish taking a breath. “Jason wasn’t with them.”

Tim frowned; the Avengers were fighting each other? Since when? “Do we know why?”

“Probably has something to do with the UN Panel and Sokovian Accords and bombing.”

Tim’s frown deepened and he turned for the stairs; he needed more information. Sure, he’d heard everything the media had said but certainly that wasn’t true; Bucky wouldn’t bomb a meeting just because he opposed the Accords. He turned back to Bruce. “What do you think about the Accords?” He’d tried asking before, but got very little from his guardian.

Bruce set the papers down on a side table and observed Tim closely. “I think at this point it’s clear they need to be monitored.”

“Like you monitor the Justice League.”

Bruce shrugged slightly, a mere lift of his shoulders. “Something like that; Shield was doing well for a while but they’ve gotten out of hand, especially with how fast they’re expanding. They need more supervision, and hopefully the Accords will give them that.”

“Why was the Justice League never approached with the idea of Accords?”

At that, Bruce smiled. “We were a few times, but time and time again we’ve proved to be more competent than what the Avengers have been showing. We put our heroes through rigorous training and we offer a support system if something does go wrong; we pull them from the field and we offer them counseling. Black Canary has had a few sessions with you and Dick.”

Tim scratched at his collarbone; “So what you’re saying is the League is organized, and the Avengers aren’t?”

“I’m saying the League is our own panel of judges, and that those who we protect trust us more than they trust the Avengers.”

Tim thought for a moment; “Could it be because all they see when they look at the League are a bunch of aliens and super men in costumes, and not the humans behind the masks?” Tim thought of Jason then, young and snarling beneath theatre lights, and he thought of Phoenix, also young and snarling, beneath a mask; he thought of Iron Man, the strong and powerful man of steel that went through an alien portal and came back, and he thought of Tony Stark, the man who had to excuse himself from a meeting because of a panic attack.

Tim stared Bruce’s slightly disapproving look right in the eyes, and then turned on his heel and left; he understood, he really did, why they had to hide their identities. The amount of time Pepper Potts had been put in danger was slowly becoming innumerable; but he also admired the Avengers for their truthfulness, their brevity, their unashamed attitude of _this is who I am, accept me_.

Natasha Romanov didn’t hide when her secrets came to light, and Fury still stood strong when Shield’s walls fell; he still scrabbled together something resembling dignity and still directed the Avengers. Maybe they didn’t have a sturdy support group, maybe they weren’t prepared for the backlash, maybe they had a tower on earth and the League had a tower in space.

What was important was that they were heroes still, trying their hardest, and the whole situation left a bad taste in Tim’s mouth.

In New York, in a facility designed by Ross for the combining of Shield and the Accords, Bucky was whisked away to a secure room for interrogation, which left Steve and T’challa in another room to be monitored until they would be addressed. Steve didn’t say anything to T’challa, and the prince didn’t say anything either; they sat in quiet tense silence.

When Sharon came in, carrying a series of papers that she divied up between the two, Steve eyed the Accords stack; she set it down, not necessarily in front of Steve but somewhere close by, as if to say _This is for you but I don’t actually want to hand it to you_. She handed over other papers, though.

“Receipts, for your shield, and for your outfit, Prince.”

“I have diplomatic immunity to act how I must, especially considering Wakanda is the leader of the UN Panel.”

Sharon nodded, her blonde curls bouncing. “That’s true, however I’m just the messenger; you’ll have to speak with Secretary Ross about it all.”

“And who the fuck do I talk to?”

Their attention was diverted to the doorway, that no one had noticed had opened, where Jason stood seething; Wanda was behind him, as was Sam, and Sam gave a shrug when Steve sent a questioning glance his way.

“Jason,” Steve spoke and stood, stepping forward; Jason met him halfway for a tight hug, holding on a moment longer than was necessary. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital.”

“Funny!” Jason barked, with no humor, and Steve frowned. “Funny, ‘cause shortly after you and Bucky ditched me fucking Ross came barreling in with soldiers and tore my room apart.”

Wanda sidled closer, eyeing the Wakandan prince who had yet to say anything. “They were quite rude.”

Jason jabbed a finger in Steve’s chest. “What the hell, Rogers?”

“I know,” he tried to soothe, “I’m sorry we left you without an explanation but it was…very sudden, and Sam stayed with you.”

Sam nodded, also eyeing the Wakandan prince, and gave Sharon a grateful look when she breezed pass him for the doorway; “We got a call from a certain someone that you guys had been taken into custody.”

Jason suddenly whirled around. “And who the fuck are you?”

T’challa blinked for a moment, a small grin coming across his face. “I am Prince…King T’challa of Wakanda.”

Jason turned to Wanda, who shrugged, and then he turned back to T’challa. “What are you doing here? Steve, what’s he doing here?”

“What do you know?” Steve asked instead, but Jason wasn’t having any of it.

He slammed his hands on the table and leaned close to T’challa. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I am here to apprehend James Barnes for the bombing at the UN Panel.”

His calm answer caused a pause in the room, a quiet lull as if the air had been sucked out, and then Jason pulled his casted arm back for a punch; Steve and Sam sprang into action, both reaching out to stop the teenager, and Wanda’s hands sparked while her cold gaze watched T’challa; but the Wakandan hadn’t even flinched, merrily amusedly watching Jason kick and scream.

“You don’t know jackshit! What the hell? You pompous sauerkraut piece of shit, I’m gonna punch your face so much you won’t even be recognizable! I’m gonna—”

“Jason!” Steve chastised, pulling his charge further away from T’challa. “That’s enough!”

“He’s assuming things! What does he know? He doesn’t know Bucky like we do! Bucky didn’t do that! He wouldn’t!” Jason finally stopped struggling, though his glare still churned acidic. “We ate Chinese food together; he was with us. He didn’t plant a fucking bomb…”

“Regardless,” Ross spoke as he stepped into the room; it was becoming very crowded in here. “He is still a threat.” Ross looked pointedly at Jason’s cast. “He did that, after all.”

Jason’s glare turned on Ross. “Ohh, you motherfucker.” He recognized the man from what happened in his hospital room, and he was not happy. He wrenched free from Steve’s loosened grip, taking one giant step before his fist connected with Ross’ cheek. “That wasn’t him! He would never hurt me! Never! You’re just sore because he won’t sign your fucking stupid Accords; I’m going to—”

Steve got a hold of Jason’s shoulders again and pulled him back while Ross stumbled to his feet and T’challa hid a grin behind his hand; ohh, this kid had spirit!

“—Shove my foot so far up your tight ass you’ll be seeing stars for weeks, and then I’m going to tie your tongue around your fucking esophagus and watch you choke on your own spit!”

“Is that even physically possible?” T’challa questioned with a laugh, but Wanda’s gaze was deadly serious when she looked at him.

“He’ll make it possible.”

“Enough!” Ross bellowed, and Jason flipped him off, still raging out threats and insults until Wanda gently touched his arm. “Mr Wilson, I’m glad you’re here; and you too, Miss Maximoff; we need you to sign the Accords. If not, we’ll need to confiscate your equipment.”

Wanda stiffened at that; she had no equipment or weapons. She was the weapon; Jason seemed to catch on and, before Steve or Sam could argue against the Accords, he pointed at Ross accusatorially.

“What are you gonna do, chain her? You can’t do that!”

“It’s all in the Accords, Mr Todd,” Ross said, still nursing his bruising cheek. “We can do whatever is necessary to keep society safe.”

Jason threw his hands up. “I am so fucking tired of pompous assholes thinking they can get away with everything,” he muttered, and Wanda inched closer; she didn’t want to be caged up again. Hydra had done that enough, and this time she wouldn’t have Pietro to keep her company; she wouldn’t have Jason’s snarky attitude to comfort her, no more Clint gently talking with her after a nightmare, or Natasha sparring with her one lazy Saturdays.

Ross pushed the Accords closer to Steve and Sam; “Sign, or we will confiscate your equipment.”

“I’m not signing that,” Sam spoke in disgust. “I’m not going to be a weapon for you; I became Falcon to help people, not for a bunch of…” He glanced at Jason. “Pompous assholes to decide who’s worth being saved and who’s not.”

Ross sighed, but handed over a small piece of paper. “Then here’s the paperwork saying you’ve resigned Falcon and Redwing.”

Sam tutted, snatching the paper. “Man…you’re going to take Redwing too…”

“Mr Rogers?”

Steve glanced at the Accords, tightening his grip on Jason when the teenager bristled at Ross’ honeyed tone. “What are you going to do with Bucky?”

“Mr Barnes will be confined for the safety of everyone.”

“For how long?”

Ross took a breath. “For however long we think is necessary.”

“He has killed a Wakandan royalty,” T’challa spoke up. “He should be handed over to us for us to deal with.”

“Not happening, pretty boy,” Jason snarked and T’challa raised a brow at the nickname. “Bucky’s innocent.”

“Evidence says otherwise, Mr Todd.”

“I know a wonderful place to shove that false evidence, Ross, if only you didn’t have a stick shoved up there.”

“Jason, be quiet.” Steve turned his attention to Ross. “But Jason is right; Bucky is innocent.”

“I understand you’re romantically involved with him, Mr Rogers, but that shouldn’t mean it blinds you from your duty as a hero; he is guilty, and you shouldn’t lie about it.” Ross shuffled the Accords. “Will you sign?”

While Jason and Wanda gaped at Ross’ incompetence, Steve straightened his shoulders. “I won’t; and my loyalty to Barnes is not because we’re romantically involved. It’s solely because he is innocent.”

Ross set the Accords in front of T’challa. “Will you sign, King T’challa?”

The man motioned at himself with raised brows. “I am one of the majority leaders on the UN Panel, and have diplomatic immunity; I need not sign or be under your rule, sir.”

“I’m afraid, your majesty, that is—”

Natasha bustled into the room then, and Jason threw his hands up as if to ask who else might show. “Completely true, Secretary.” She settled yet another stack of papers on the table. “King T’challa does in fact have diplomatic and Panel immunity; as such, we are violating his freedom by keeping him here and withholding his suit.” She eyed Wanda, motioning for her to come stand by her. “Come here, Wanda, you should be at the Tower with Vision.”

Jason flailed to grip her hand, their fingers mashing uncomfortably as they got an awkward grip on each other; she swallowed and opened her mouth to speak. “I am here to support Jason.”

Natasha nodded distractedly, pointedly not looking at Steve. “We’re going home in a few minutes; come.” Her tone broached no room for argument, and Wanda kept hold of Jason’s hand as long as possible. She skirted around Ross with distaste, stood stoically by Natasha’s side, and watched Steve, Sam, and Jason get escorted out of the facility. “You won’t be chaining Wanda, Secretary Ross; see here on page 36 of the Accords it states if the Avengers can apprehend and contain a violent or threatening individual we have the ability to do so if the leaders of the Panel permit with a majority vote of 2 to 1.” She turned to T’challa. “Are you alright if the Avengers contain Wanda Maximoff, Scarlet Witch, if she refuses to sign the Accords?”

T’challa waved a hand. “I do not believe her to be a threat; do as you wish.” T’challa smiled. “And since the Wakandan vote counts for three, you have won, Miss Romanov, regardless of the others’ vote.”

She nodded her head, turning back to discussing business with Ross.

In the elevator, as they were escorted through the building by armed guards, the electricity shorted out and a red alarm blared to life, an automated voice crying out _Security breech, Security breech, holding cell D-7, Security breech_ and Jason turned a wide gaze to Steve.

“That’s Bucky,” he nearly whispered. “I know, because we asked Friday before we left the tower to hack into the database and tell us where Bucky was being held. He was in D-7.”

It was enough to get Steve moving; the guards had been standing near the door, in case the threat tried to come through, and Steve knocked their heads together comically, knocking them both unconscious. With that taken care of, he pried the door open, holding it like that until Jason and Sam had crawled out.

“Ok, if he’s attempting escape he’ll go for the ground floor, no matter what.”

Jason nodded, though he felt uneasy; something wasn’t right, but he ran along behind Sam and Steve anyways. His guardian needed him.

They reached the ground floor to see Tony covering the muzzle of a gun with a prototype Iron Man gauntlet, Bucky pulling the trigger; Jason was the first one to start taking the last few stairs, crying out “Bucky!” as he went. Steve was on his heels, Sam behind him. Sharon came from around the corner as Jason’s sneakers squeaked on the landing as he took the turn too fast; she blocked a punch from Bucky after he threw Tony across the room, wrapping an arm over Bucky’s arm to keep it still, and went to through her own punch.

“Bucky!” Jason called again, and Steve launched over the railing to get to the ground floor first.

Bucky twisted out of Sharon’s way, slamming her onto the ground and pinning her there; Tony stood from where he’d been tossed aside, aiming at Bucky with his gauntlet, and Steve came barreling out of the corner and knocked Tony aside. Jason went to Bucky, while Sam eyed T’challa who had just appeared at the top of the stairs they’d just came down from. He was dressed in the Black Panther suit, looking straight at Bucky, and Sam shook his head.

“Don’t do it,” he muttered, and Black Panther launched forward for Bucky. “Come on,” Sam whined, but moved in tandem to cut the panther off.

Natasha too had appeared, and Wanda with her, but while Wanda stood still—too shocked and unsure to move—Natasha ran for Bucky; Jason got there first, and though he wasn’t strong enough to tackle Bucky off Sharon, he still wrapped his arms tight around Bucky.

“Bucky, stop!” He knew something was off; Bucky was too stiff, too methodical, in the way he moved. It was like when Jason had got hurt; but he wasn't scared. He'd never be scared of Bucky. Jason touched his metal arm, exposed from beneath his rolled sleeves, and begged once more, “Please, stop; this isn’t you. This isn’t Bucky.”

The arm twitched, the metal plates shifting, and Natasha grabbed the back of Jason’s shirt and yanked him away; Jason shrieked out, jolting Wanda to move down the stairs, and Bucky stood up from Sharon hurriedly. Jason threw an elbow at Natasha, but she of course caught his arm and pinned it down.

“Watch it, that’s my broken arm!”

Bucky turned slowly towards them; in the background, Steve and Tony wrestled and spoke to each other, while Sam and T’challa did the same. Bucky held his shaking hands up hesitantly, imploringly. “Nat,” he spoke quietly, and Sharon coughed in air behind him on the floor. “Please,” he begged. “I didn’t do the bomb; and…and someone keeps messing with my head. Please, give us a chance.”

Natasha kept a tight grip on Jason for a moment longer; then she sighed, and let Jason go. “Go,” she spoke quietly, “before T’challa or Ross’ men get here.”

Jason grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled; “We gotta go, Bucky; we can take Sam’s car.”

They went for the door, quickly past Tony and Steve and T’challa and Sam, and when Ross’ soldiers did show and opened fire Bucky shielded Jason with his metal arm; they burst out the glass doors to the curb, and Jason handed Bucky the keys to Sam’s car.

Bucky pushed Jason into the backseat, making sure he was safe, before getting into the front and peeling away from the building as soldiers spilled out and opened fire; as they got further and further away, Jason slowly uncurled from his position on the backseat. He pushed himself up and looked out the back windshield, scattered bullet holes whistling.

“Are they going to be ok?” Jason asked. “Sam and Steve.”

Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel was slowly causing it to crack; it had happened again. Someone, that stupid psychiatrist, had spoken the code and caused him to go berserk again. “They’ll make it; I know they will.”

He had to hope; because it was too dangerous to leave him alone with Jason. He was too dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER: Wanda disobeys Natasha and gets grounded, Clint shows up to break her out of House Arrest, and Bucky and Steve and Sam and Jason are all reunited


	10. Always had my back

Back at the facility, Wanda ignored Natasha’s order to stand down and kept Tony and T’challa pinned; her hands twitched stiffly, red energy bubbling out and around the room; she watched Sam and Steve bolt out the door, and when she was sure they had a good head start, she released Tony and T’challa. Tony fluffed his jacket when he was finally released, eyeing Wanda suspiciously; T’challa, however, stood up from the floor slowly and watched Wanda carefully, tugging off his mask.

Wanda clasped her arm; she may have just doomed herself. She was scared; she didn’t want to be bad. She didn’t want to be caged and treated like a monster. But she had to help her friends; she couldn’t stand by and watch Steve and Sam be arrested, she couldn’t watch Bucky be threatened or hurt, and above all she couldn’t let Jason down.

Natasha marched from Sharon to Wanda, grabbing her arm tight and turning her towards herself. “I ordered you to stand down!” Natasha lowered her voice, letting out the slightest note of panic. “We could lose you now.”

Wanda just blinked at her. “And I can’t lose them,” she responded.

Before Natasha could say anything, Ross and his cohorts showed up, three reaching for Wanda while two others kept their weapons aimed at her.

“Secretary Ross,” T’challa spoke as he approached. “Please release the young witch; she’s done no harm.” He smiled at her, warmly and with understanding. “She will be fine held at the Tower. We must continue to pursue Barnes and the others; where would they go?”

Natasha didn’t stay to listen; she dragged Wanda out of the facility as fast as possible. She drove wildly back to the Tower, not saying a word to Wanda, while Wanda sat dejectedly in the passenger seat; Natasha parked in front of the Tower, took a heavy breath, and finally turned towards Wanda. “I don’t think you’re a threat, Wanda; but with the Accords, we have to be careful. We need to follow what they say and this is a protocol we need to follow; you need to stay here.”

Wanda finally turned her gaze to her guardian. “Why did you agree with the Accords?”

Natasha thought for a moment; “I think we need a bit more leadership than what we’ve had.”

Wanda shook her head. “But everything else? The punishments, the time it will take for orders to be sent… The fact we become less heroes and more weapons.”

Natasha turned the car back on; “Get inside; Vision will watch you until I can come back.”

“You think I’ve listened too much to Steve and Bucky.” Wanda reached for the door handle, paused. “And Clint? Why isn’t Clint here, why hasn’t he said anything?”

“You know why Clint isn’t here,” Natasha warned, but Wanda shook her head.

“You’ve been arguing; but that was before the Accords.”

Natasha pointed to the Tower. “Go, Wanda.”

“What have you been arguing about?”

“Wanda…”

She shook her head. “You’re my family! We should communicate.”

“Clint wanted us to quit,” Natasha spoke evenly. “We argued about it. He left. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, they sat in silence; and then Wanda pushed open the car door and hurried inside the Tower. Vision was indeed there to welcome her, and he escorted her back to the social floor where he went about making her a meal as the sun softly set, as if to offer comfort; the cats, the ones that trail around the Tower since Jason brought them home months and months ago, come running and they offer her more comfort than Vision.

Several long miles away, and hours later too, in a parking garage Bucky watched Jason sleep in the passenger seat; it took him back to those months they spent on the run from Hydra, Bucky not even sure who he was, with Jason a quiet and listless companion. Bucky rubbed the stubble on his chin; it had been dangerous then, and it was dangerous now too.

Jason breathed softly, so very trustful and vulnerable, curled up under Steve’s jacket that had been left in the car; Sam had let Jason hold onto the car keys, as if to give him a sense of control in this uncertain time, and Bucky was thankful both for the getaway option and for Sam’s intuition.

The horrible thing about being the Winter Soldier again was the memories that came with it; Bucky had always remembered everything he had done, but right now it seemed so much clearer. Every face, every name, every drop of blood he spilled. He remembered it all, and now he had to add Jason and Steve to that list too; he had hurt them, if not assassinated them, but he had tried. And here Jason was, still in his cast, sleeping as if nothing had changed.

He’d grabbed Bucky, back at the facility, as if there was no danger; but there had been so much. For a split moment, Bucky was going to grab him and throw him across the room; but then Jason had touched his arm, his not-arm, his metal arm, and something had awoken in Bucky. Something far more feral than the Winter Soldier, a need to protect, to save, to stop what he was doing; and with Jason’s shriek, it had roared into action.

He'd stood, hands shaking, away from Sharon whom he’d been choking and he turned to address Natasha, to beg her just one more chance, and Jason…

Jason had, once more, grabbed him like he wasn’t dangerous, had touched him and spoke as if they were just out on another battlefield, fighting aliens or Loki, as if none of what Bucky had done mattered.

He wanted to shake the teenager, tell him to be reasonable; Bucky was dangerous. Had always been. Nothing would change that, especially not a seventeen year old boy.

A phone went off, chirping loudly in the early morning darkness, and Bucky scrambled to grab it from the dashboard; Jason groaned and burrowed further beneath the jacket and Bucky habitually reached over to tuck it in around his kid, shushing Jason gently before stepping out of the car.

“Hello?” he answered. “Steve?”

“Bucky! Oh, thank god, where are you guys? We’re going to come to you; Sharon’s bringing us our equipment. Are you and Jason ok?”

Bucky rubbed his eyes, leaning against the side of the car. “We’re in an abandoned parking garage near the new airport; what happened? Is this line secure?”

There was some rustling over on the other end. “It’s as secure as we’re going to get; take this exit, Sam. Are you guys ok?”

“Yeah, yeah; Jason’s sleeping right now.”

There was a brief pause; “have you got any sleep, Bucky?” Steve’s voice was worry filled, obviously strained but still ever loving. “Bucky?”

“I can’t sleep; I’ll be fine.” He’d worked off less sleep than this; he would be fine. “What happened? How’d you guys get out of there?”

“Wanda helped us out, but we had to leave her behind; Jason won’t be happy about that.”

“He’ll understand; how far out are you guys?”

“Maybe two hours; we’ll be there by sunrise.”

Bucky nodded even though Steve couldn’t see him; “It happened again, Steve,” he whispered, and a bird cried out somewhere. “That psychiatrist wasn’t a psychiatrist; he said his name was Zemo, said we deserved this and to find him later.”

“Find him where?” Steve sounded angry, cold and dangerous.

“I…I don’t know.”

A pause; “We’ll figure this out.”

“I’m dangerous.”

“You’re Bucky.”

“I was the Winter Soldier; I was going to kill Sharon, Steve. I was going to kill Peggy’s niece.”

“I know,” Steve spoke. “But you didn’t. We’ll figure this out; we’ll clear your name and get you help. Just rest, and take care of yourself and Jason.”

Bucky glanced back into the car; Jason had shifted in his sleep, the jacket falling down, and Bucky opened the door to pull it back up again. “Ok; I can do that.”

“I know you can; we’ll be there soon,” he promised before hanging up.

Wanda was holding Hawk, the cat with dark stripes against her fur, when the building shook the slightest bit; she looked up from her half eaten plate of food, and Vision stood smoothly.

“Stay here,” he ordered, and Wanda stood as he left the room.

She clutched Hawk to her, burying her nose in the soft fur; Clint had taken Samson with him when he left, handed off by Jason who’d said Samson would like a large farm to run around on and hunt mice. Wanda thought Jason was worried Clint might get lonely, or forget about them; she had been.

“Hey, princess,” a familiar voice called, and Wanda whirled around.

“Clint!” She let Hawk jump to the ground and hurried forward to hug Clint tight. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard some stuff was going down and that you might need my help.”

“You’re on our side?” she pulled away. “But I thought you wanted to quit.”

Clint rolled his eyes, all in good fun, and took her hand to drag her to the door. “I’ll quit when Bucky is safe, or when Ross decides to jump off a cliff.”

She grinned. “You sound like Jason; he hates Ross.”

Vision stepped into the doorway. “I cannot allow you to leave, Mr Barton; Wanda is currently being held under Avenger containment.”

“She’s grounded.” Clint shrugged, his bow flapping about the room as he moved. “You can just say she’s grounded.”

“Vision,” she spoke calmly. “Vision, just let us go; we’ll deal with the fallout later, but right now Bucky and Steve need us. Bucky’s innocent.”

“I cannot let you go; I…I would never forgive myself if you were hurt.”

It had been coming, she knew; she, like Jason, had just wanted to ignore it. She shook her head; he was sweet, Vision. He was kind and caring, but she… She couldn’t stay here. “I cannot control their fear of me,” she spoke quietly, hands twitching and her magic sparking to life around her. “But I can control my own; and I will. I will fear being locked up,” she began to melt the floor, to shove Vision through it, to lock him within the building’s structure so they could escape. “But I will not let it keep me from doing what I believe is right.”

Vision struggled as he was shoved within the floor, as Wanda and Clint skirted around him for the door, as Hawk mrowled unhappily from the corner; but it was to no avail. Within moments, Clint and Wanda were gone.

“How did you know where to find me?” She asked as she hopped into the passenger seat of Clint’s white van.

“A friend told me.”

“What friend?” A groan came from the back seat, and Wanda jolted, hands sparking as she turned to face the noise; a man rolled over on the floor and snored softly. “And who is this?”

“Uhh, this is Scott; Sam had a nice conversation with him a few weeks ago. We’re…recruiting him.”

She eyed the sleeping man. “Did you drug him?”

“A little bit,” Clint said as he took a corner sharply. “As for which friend, it was a certain lady insect.”

“…Why would Natasha tell you to come break me out? She put me there.”

“I think she had a feeling you were going to break out on your own; at least this way, I can watch you.”

“And Scott?”

“Ahh, him,” Clint glanced back at him then to the road again. “Sam said he might be helpful.”

“A lot has happened, hasn’t it?”

Clint bit his lip; “Let’s just say Jason’s almost as good at technology as Tony is; he hacked into Friday, asked it to figure out where Zemo went?”

Wanda waved her hands, similarly to Jason’s exasperated movements of frustration. “Who is Zemo?”

“Not sure, but he doesn’t sound like a good guy from what Sam told me.”

Wanda shook her head; “so they are alright? Sam and Steve and Bucky and Jason? They’re well?”

“They’re waiting for us in a parking garage near an airport; apparently Zemo is off in an old Hydra base in Siberia. He left a nice message in Ross' security system.”

“Then we apprehend him, and figure out what’s been going on.”

Clint nodded; “that’s the plan.”

It sounded like a good one, but with Ross and their old friends closing in it was only a matter of time before things fell apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER: Tony has a talk with Peter, guilts Spiderman into joining his cause, and everyone faces off against each other at the airport!


	11. As friendship goes, Resentment grows

“So you agree working together would be faster than working against each other?”

T’challa considered the proposition; true, they both had the same goal in mind. Stark and his group wanted to apprehend Barnes and the others. Though their motivations were different, and the after effects of the apprehension varied, Tony was correct. It would be more beneficial to work together. “I will assist you.”

Tony nodded. “Good.” He turned for the doorway. “There’s just one more person I need to recruit, and then we can be on our way; Friday,” he called up his AI as he went. “How’s that tracking going?”

“Thirty-seven percent done, sir.”

“Thirty-seven? It should be at eighty by now; you feeling alright?”

“Apologies, sir; Mr Todd asked me to help him track down Zemo.”

Tony slid into his car, making a face. “Who’s Zemo?”

“Apparently a Hydra agent.”

“Ok, ok, wait! Backtrack, you helped Jason? Friday, come on! He’s our enemy right now.” Traffic was easy to weave in and out of, and Tony knew he’d be at his destination very shortly.

“Apologies, sir, but you did not block his access and as such I was only doing as I have been programmed to do.”

“Why did I have to give you snark too?”

Friday chuckled, and Tony smiled; even if he had to fight his friends, they had still been his friends. He hoped, the slightest bit, that they were right; that Bucky was innocent, and this whole drama would blow over.

“Friday, run me through the stuff we have on Parker.”

“Certainly, sir.” Her voice was clear from the car speakers as she began to rattle off information points that Tony had been compiling for months now; by the time he reached Parker’s home address, Friday had gone over the information twice.

He bounded up the front porch steps, up the quant little house on the outskirts of New York City, in the suburbs, with a green lawn and soft blue paint; Tony knocked on the door loudly, fixing the cuff on his shirt, and the door swung open to reveal Aunt May’s questioning face.

“Oh, Mr Stark!” She gasped. “Oh, this is a surprise; we weren’t expecting you, please come in!”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Tony charmed, taking in the small house; it was, indeed, very quant. “Is Peter home? I had hoped to speak with him.”

“Oh, yes, he’s in his room; Peter!” She called up the stairs, but Tony held a hand out.

“Don’t worry, I think I can find it; may I?” He pointed up the stairs with a raised brow and she waved him up with a gentle smile; he ran into Peter at the top of the stairs, the teenager coming to respond to his aunt’s call, and Tony smiled widely at him. “Hey there, champ; let’s have a chat.”

Tony shuffled Peter back into his room, closing the door and locking it behind him; Peter stood cautiously in the middle of the room. His room was like any other teenager’s, messy, with various scrap electronics and knickknacks about the room.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Tony said, snapping his fingers as he walked the perimeter of the room.

“What are you doing here, Tony?” Peter didn’t like this; it was strange, especially with what the news had been spouting off for the past four days, with what the media had been talking of since Lagos happened. “Has something happened to Jason?”

Tony nodded, tongue in cheek, eyeing Peter closely; “I think you know what’s happened to Jason, and what needs to happen next, don’t you? Spiderman?”

Peter shook his head, stepping away from the billionaire. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He swallowed. “You need to leave.”

“You’ve got Jason fooled; got Wanda fooled too. Are you proud of that?”

“You need to leave,” Peter said more firmly, but then Tony was snatching his backpack from besides his computer desk and ripping the zipper open, dumping the contents onto the floor; his Spiderman suit fell out, and Peter clapped a hand to his forehead in stress. “Listen, you need to just… You need to go.”

“Peter, I want to help you,” Tony spoke calmly, sitting backwards in his computer chair, “but I need you to help me too.”

The teenager gnawed on his nails next, eyes still on his suit on the floor; “How did you find out?”

“I’m Stark; I’ve got electronics everywhere, I live with a Russian super spy, and you ask how I found out? CCTV footage, those bruises you told Jason were just from wrestling during gym class, Natasha shadowing you for a few days; and come on. You’re the only photographer who can get clear pictures of Spiderman, just magically knowing where he’ll be at any given time of day.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair; god, this was bad. “You can’t say anything; not to May or Jason or anyone.”

“I won’t; if you’ll help me. Bet I could even pay off the foreclosure of this house, let you and your aunt keep living here.” He tapped a finger against the pawnshop electronics. “You could have better computers, go to any college you want, get an internship at StarkTech. I just need your help, and I need you to sign the Accords.” Somewhere in Tony’s mind, it made sense; he wanted to help Peter, a young superhero kid with superpowers. He’d be hunted down if he didn’t go to Xavier’s school or sign the Accords or miraculously be accepted into the Justice League; none of that would happen, Tony knew. So this was the only other option.

Peter shook his head and Tony looked away; the kid was going to cry. “I can’t; you’re asking me to fight against Jason and Bucky. You’re asking me to fight against my friends.”

“They’re my friends too, Parker.”

Peter shook his head again. “I can’t…”

Tony stood and heaved a sigh. “You went to see Jason in the hospital, didn’t you?”

“I…”

“And you saw the pins in his arm? You saw the meds he was on, and the stab wound in his side, and you heard about Steve having been shot; and you know,” Tony lowered his voice as he stepped closer. “Just like we all know, who’s responsible. I’m not asking you to fight your friends; I’m asking you to help protect Jason.”

Peter eyed the suit still crumpled on his floor; he rubbed furiously at his reddening eyes when he started crying silently, and Tony looked away again. “I…”

“Barnes is dangerous right now, Peter; and he’s alone with Jason. What else will he do when he goes rampant? It’d be a shake if you lost Jason, like you’ve lost your uncle.”

Peter turned a saddened glare on the billionaire, a how dare you stuck in his throat; Tony frowned in shame.

“You can’t sit by and call yourself a hero, Peter.”

Peter looked at Tony, then back at his suit; finally, he nodded so very hesitantly. “Ok,” he rasped out. “Ok, fine; fine… I’ll help. But not you; I’m doing this for Jason.”

Tony unlocked the door and threw it open; “whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.” And then he disappeared down the stairs, leaving Peter to shuffle his outfit back into his backpack.

At the parking garage near the airport, Jason was just finishing wolfing down a hamburger when Clint’s van pulled up; the trio of adults perked up upon his arrival, shifting through the equipment Sharon had already dropped off, and when Wanda hopped out of the car Jason hurried forward to give her a big hug.

“I thought we’d lost you for a while there.”

She squeezed him tight and then pulled away; “Clint broke me out; what’s the plan?”

While Clint introduced an exuberant Scott Lang to Steve and Sam and Bucky, Jason reiterated what he knew; Zemo had gone and holed himself up in an abandoned Hydra base in Siberia, where he expected Bucky to come and face him, and they would be borrowing one of the planes awaiting at the new unopened airport a few streets over.

“Should be pretty simple,” Jason said, then lowered his voice. “Bucky says Zemo knows the activation code, so I need to know you’ll help me out if we need to subdue him.”

She nodded; “You have my word; I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Jason grinned, rolling his eyes when Scott kept shaking Steve’s hand too long. “Alright, then.”

Wanda touched his arm gently; he was tense, he looked tired, as did everyone else, but most of all… He looked scared. “We’ll figure this out, Jason; we won’t lose Bucky.” She wanted to promise it, and though she doubted it was a good idea she made her voice sound sure.

“We’d better not,” he warned before slipping away to suit up.

They suited up, prepared to approach a hanger, when they spotted the others; Stark and Rhodey and Natasha and Vision and T’challa, all standing near the hanger and approaching slowly. Steve took the lead of their group, Bucky to his right and Jason to his left, with Sam and Clint and Wanda and Scott trailing them.

Finally, the groups paused and assessed each other.

“Give it up, Steve; we don’t want to fight you anymore.”

“We’re not stopping until we’ve apprehended the real bomber.”

“That’s all fine and dandy,” Rhodey spoke, “But we still need to take Bucky in for turning rogue. Twice now, if I’m counting correctly.”

“We’re working on that too,” Jason said; he’d decided against his helmet, choosing to go even without his mask. He wore his black body armor, with the red bird splattered across his chest plate, his leather jacket too and holsters; his hands hovered over his guns. “Bucky’s not to blame.”

“Let us take Barnes.” T’challa this time; he wasn’t hovering. His claws were out, and he was completely prepared for a battle.

Steve shook his head; “No, we won’t let you.”

Tony finally had enough; he shook his head, clapped his hands, and called out. “Pipsqueak, you’re up!”

And out of nowhere came the red and blue spandex wearing Spiderman, slinging web to claim Steve’s shield and tying his hands together, landing expertly on a terminal tunnel a few feet away; Jason immediately drew his gun, taking aim, and Spiderman slowly uncrouched, waving uncertainly.

“H-hey, everyone,” his voice was quiet and strained, hefting the shield while Steve stretched the webbing across his hands.

“Wanda,” Vision implored. “End this now, before someone gets hurt.”

She looked to Jason, who was still eyeing Spiderman with a ferocity, and she looked to Bucky whose posture showed his own uncertainty; she flexed her hands, raising them to show off the red magic there. “We are hurting,” she said. “And I will not stop until we are better again.”

It was all they needed to hear, before they raced to clash against each other; while Wanda flung Natasha away from Clint, warning him about pulling his punches, Steve and Jason hurried to get back his shield. Scott kept Rhodey and Stark distracted enough for Sam and Bucky to escape inside the airport momentarily, T’challa on their tail.

When Steve had his shield back, Spiderman having dropped it when Jason took aim with both his pistols and firing, Steve left Jason to deal with the other teenager. Spiderman moved into a hands and knees crouch, as if a wild animal, eyeing Jason as Jason circled him.

“You’re an idiot,” Jason spoke, though there was the slightest hint of sadness in his tone; he’d been friends with Spiderman once, chasing each other across rooftops, racing to be the first to take down a mugger. They hadn’t been close, but they had interacted as friends and this still stung a bit. “You’re not suited to fight on our level.”

“Jason…” Spiderman tried to cajole, to convince. “You don’t understand what’s at stake hear.”

“My father figure is at stake!” he roared, taking aim and popping off a shot that Spiderman easily dodged. “And you won’t take him from me!” He let loose more shots, and Spiderman continued to scuttle away.

Jason gave chase, and it was only when he ran out of bullets in his clip did he work out a plan to physically fight the spider; he ducked under a long hanging terminal tunnel, cutting Spiderman’s run off and tackling the other teenager to the crowd. They grappled, grasped at each other, Spiderman landed solid hits to the weak links in Jason’s armor, a punch straight to his stitched stab wound, and Jason finally got Spiderman in a headlock through the pain.

“You motherfucker,” he hissed, and Spiderman tapped at his arms and pulled.

“Ja-son,” the other boy croaked out, drawing his arm back and slamming it down onto his wound once more, twice, three times; finally, Jason had to let go but not before he grabbed a fistful of Spiderman’s mask.

Jason twisted away, mask in hand, and crouched low; ready for another attack, he raised his fists and tossed the mask aside. “Face me!” He ignored the slow trickle of blood from his side; that could be dealt with later.

Spiderman did; slowly, he uncurled from the ground, paused, and pivoted hesitantly. His head was held low, but slowly brought up to lock eyes with Jason—and Jason’s breath stuck in his chest.

He dropped his fists, shoulders slumping down too, and his face fell; he had been very close friends with Spiderman, and he never knew it. “Peter?”

Peter smiled sadly, remorsefully. “Hey, Jason.”

They stared each other down for a moment; then, with a roar, Jason launched himself forward.

Peter side stepped, gripped his arm, and twisted; but Jason, through the haze of anger and bitterness, countered with a kick to Peter’s abdomen. They parted, readied for another attack, and launched.

“Why? I trusted you!” It didn’t matter that Peter was goddamn Spiderman, it didn’t matter that Peter knew Jason was Phoenix but didn’t feel the need to inform Jason of him being Spiderman; what mattered was that Peter was here to bring them in.

Peter flipped Jason over his shoulder, mindful of Jason’s broken arm, skittered around, and pinned him. “Because Tony’s right; we have to be monitored. There have to be protocols for hurting innocents.” He saw his uncle lying dead, shot, in the middle of the street.

“Then why fight us?” Across the lot Steve tackled Tony and Bucky blocked a kick from Natasha. “Where do we fit in?” He twisted his legs into a thigh hold, tugged Peter off him, lifted the weight off his casted arm and bruised ribs.

Peter broke free with an elbow to Jason’s ribcage, close enough to his still healing stab wound to sting; they paused again, stared each other down. Peter let Jason recover. “Because…because he can hurt civilians, Jay. He has hurt civilians; Jason, he hurt _you_.”

Jason glared; his mask twitched, the only indication that his expression changing. “It wasn’t him.” And he was launching himself forward again.

“I’m sorry,” Peter muttered before countering Jason’s attack.

So it went, until Rhodey was shot down because Sam dodged an attack meant for him, until Steve and Bucky and Jason found a loophole and ran for the hanger alone, until Wanda was hit with an attack from Vision that shocked her to her core, collapsed in her magic, a sucking hole in her chest; the fighting eased then, with Vision cradling Wanda’s shaking body, Tony doing the same to Rhodey’s still and unconscious one, with Sam coming to offer aid and Clint and Scott apprehended by Spiderman.

Until all that was left was Natasha aiming her shock bracelets at Steve and Bucky and Jason, and Steve begged her for one more chance.

“I’m being asked to give a lot of chances lately, Steve,” she responded, eyeing all three in turn; finally, she pulled the trigger.

But neither went down; instead, behind them, T’challa was knocked to his knees from the shock of her weapon, and she nodded to the fast carrier behind her.

“Go,” she ordered, and they did.

They raced inside, Bucky ordering Jason to buckle up and heading into the cockpit with Steve; together, they maneuvered the plane onto the runway and took off; their enemies were too distracted to react, even when Ross’ men showed up too late to shoot them out of the sky, and Jason finally breathed a sigh and pretended he didn’t want to cry.

They were all supposed to have made it; everyone, Clint and Wanda and Sam. But he had left Wanda hurting on the pavement to run after his guardians. It didn’t seem right; it was all wrong, all falling apart, and Jason needed to be grounded. He tried slamming his head against the back of the seat, to feel something other than sucking despair, but that didn’t work so he pressed and dug around in his stitches, enough for more blood to seep out.

Still no good, nothing other than causing him to choke down a cry and want to cry more; so he rifled around in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone, dialing up the only person he could think of.

Jason didn’t even know why he was calling, really; Tim had other things to do than listen to him babble about worries and thoughts that wouldn’t shut up in his head. But he didn’t have time to decide to hang up; the phone rang twice before Tim picked up.

_“Jason, are you ok?”_

He tried to say something, but couldn’t.

_“Jason, talk to me.”_

“It’s all wrong.”

_“What is?”_

Jason bit his lip, as if that would stop the tears in his eyes and the panic in his chest, pressed the phone closer to his ear; he reverted to what he did best in times of stress. “None of your business, baby bird.” He closed up.

_“They’re saying you guys have gone rogue, and you called me, Jason; what the fuck?”_

“Language, pipsqueak.”

_“I’ll swear if I want to, Jason Peter Todd! Did Bucky plant that bomb?”_

“No!” Jason snarled, and pulled his hand back just in time to not slam it angrily against the wall. “No, he didn’t!”

_“Then say so; tell them what happened!”_

“We did; they don’t believe us.”

_“I believe you.”_

Jason didn’t say anything for a while; finally he pressed his fingers against his eyes. “He did something else; Tim, it’s really messed up, man…”

_“Jason, I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”_

Jason thought of Peter’s face, of having to throw punches at someone he once considered his best friend—all because of what Hydra had done to Bucky. “You can’t hate him,” he nearly whispered down the phone line, and he glanced at the cockpit; Bucky and Steve were too preoccupied right now. “Tim, you have to promise me you won’t hate him.”

There was a moment of silence; _“Is it bad?”_

“It’s fucked up.”

There was the sound of a clacking keyboard. _“Tell me; I won’t hate him.”_

“Promise?”

_“…I promise, Jay.”_

“He…he was the Winter Soldier again, Tim; he…it wasn’t him, okay, but he hurt me and he hurt Steve, and he hurt some other people too at Ross’ compound. It wasn’t him and the media doesn’t know any of this, please don’t hate him. It’s not his fault…”

There was a long pause where Jason bit his lip and scratched at the drying blood on his abdomen; he didn’t think he could handle another one of the most important people in his life hating Bucky.

“Tim…?”

_“I don’t know how to say this, Jay, but that’s been all over the media since you guys went underground; Secretary Ross gave a statement that he’d seen this coming. He detailed everything. They know, Jason; everyone knows.”_

Jason hung up and threw the phone across the plane cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have about two or three more chapters and then we're done with this part ^-^ Also, how'd you guys like Peter and Jason's lil fight? I've been really excited to put this out! I wrote that scene a while before I even started Bad Blood so Im really happy to finally publish it  
> NEXT CHAPTER: Zemo gives his side of the story, things go haywire, Jason goes through the stages of grief (except he kinda just stops on Anger), and Zemo gets what was coming to him


	12. I dont want to hear about it anymore

Everyone knew. Everyone knew. Everyone knew, and were condemning Bucky.

Tim had sent a few texts to Jason, after Jason had hung up, with links to different media sites and articles on the drama; most quoted civilians or prominent social figures on what they believed needed to be done. Most quotes said he needed to be contained, others said he needed to be “taken down”, some said there had to be an explanation.

Either way, Jason had a sinking feeling about the whole thing; even if they could clear Bucky of the bombing, society would claim safety to get him locked up.

Jason rubbed a hand over his face, tired and worn thin; he couldn’t lose Bucky. He wouldn’t lose Bucky. He didn’t think he could handle that; Bucky was…

Bucky was, in the simplest of terms, Jason’s safe place; at any point in time, if Jason felt uneasy or frightened or hurt, he could go to Bucky and Bucky would take care of it for him. Not quite, it wasn’t that Bucky would step up and solve all Jason’s problems, but he would be there to support and comfort and that was all Jason needed.

Jason could solve his own problems; he was independent, but beyond that he was dependent too. He would make his own decisions, but he also needed someone there to believe in him.

And Bucky did; he always had. Was always kind and caring, always there if Jason needed it…

Jason couldn’t lose Bucky.

The plane was set down in an open field a little ways from the path to the facility; when they stumbled from the plane, Bucky took a second to fit Jason’s armor more securely on his body. During the flight, Bucky had taken the time to bandage Jason’s stab wound, doing his best to stop the bleeding and restrengthen the stitches.

Jason too tugged on Bucky’s armor, and Steve put a hand on both their shoulders.

“Are we ready for this?”

Jason nodded; his face was determined, but blank, too tired to speak or do much else. Bucky too nodded, his face also determined.

“We’ll catch Zemo; everything will be right again.”

So they trekked up the snowy path, up the mountain, to the facility just barely peeking out of the peek; Jason put a hand on his gun, preparing for Zemo to pop up. But he didn’t; they shuffled through the hallways, different rooms with various outdated equipment, with nothing but the wind whistling and water dripping somewhere.

“Bucky?” So many questions in one name; are you okay, the most prominent one.

Bucky turned a reassuring smile on Jason; “It’s ok, Jace.”

Jason believed him, but there was still that slightest bit of fear that something was about to go wrong; it did, the slightest bit, when Tony’s voice called out and Jason, feet away from his caretakers investigating a set of tubes, whirled around and pulled his gun out.

“Easy,” Tony soothed, hands up, but that could only mean he was taking aim with his blasters. “I’m not here to fight; I spoke with Sam.”

“Jason, come here.”

He obeyed, hurry towards Steve, and Steve shoved him behind the shield with Bucky. “You here to take us in yet again?”

Tony shook his head. “No; I’m here to help. Sam told me what Zemo did; planting the bomb, framing Bucky. Using the code.”

Bucky didn’t flinch, only stiffened further, aiming his own weapon steadily; Jason pressed closer to him. “So what?”

“Let’s say I’m on your side.”

“You’re on Ross’ side; you never believed us before, why would you now?”

Tony nodded. “True, Jason; but I think with everything that’s been going on…it’s time to give you a chance.”

Steve waited a moment, waited for Bucky to make the decision, and Bucky did; he lowered his gun, though his shoulders stayed stiff, and Jason shadowed his posture.

“Fine,” Steve too lowered his shield. “We’ll give you a chance.”

So they did; they continued to go through the facility, Jason trying to ignore the unease prickling down his spine; the Hydra logo stamped on the walls was disconcerting, and Jason followed Bucky’s footsteps to skirt around them as often as possible.

They finally came upon a room, large, with multiple different capsules; Jason eyed them, peering beyond the frosted glaze on the front. Nothing was inside beyond different sets of wires and gadgets, and Jason turned to Bucky to see if he recognized it all.

“Welcome,” a voice echoed, and there was Zemo behind a set of bullet proof glass. “Welcome to the training center.”

He was closest to Steve so Jason inched closer, until they were shoulder to shoulder, and he watched Zemo closely. “What is this place?” Steve asked.

“This is where we conditioned your Bucky; we put him through various, untested virtual sessions. Your father was way beyond his time, Mr Stark.”

Tony rubbed a hand across one of the capsules; “What is this…? This is…”

“Star technology,” Zzemo gloated, and Steve and Jason and Bucky moved closer together, eyeing Tony. “Your father was a dreamer, and most of these virtual sessions damaged our Winter Soldier more than helped him. But that was easily remedied.” He clicked a button and an old television came to life, showing footage of a car going down the road; and then a man came from the woods, took aim, and popped off a shot. The car swerved, crashed, and the man approached.

“This is,” Steve questioned, and Bucky turned away looking sickly; Jason didn’t watch. He didn’t want to; he had an idea of what the footage was. It didn’t matter. It didn’t _fucking_ matter.

“That’s my parents’ car.” Tony’s voice was cold, and he turned to the group huddled together.

It didn’t matter, Jason kept repeating; it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t true. He wanted this to be over; he wanted things to be normal again. He couldn’t breathe, and he pressed his hands to his ears to block out their raising voices. His eyes burned and he squeezed them shut too.

“You murdered my parents!”

“For no reason; the paperwork we needed to recalibrate the virtual session was still largely untested, and this facility was eventually abandoned for more… In the field practice.” Zemo gloated, sat back as Tony went for Bucky who hadn’t moved, as Steve blocked Tony’s attacks.

“You knew all this time? You lived in my house! Under my roof, we were friends!” Tony aimed, and Bucky ducked away. “And you killed my parents!”

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Tony,” Bucky spoke.

“Do you remember them?” Tony fired a blast, cutting Bucky in his side.

Bucky ducked behind one of the capsules, pressing a hand to his injury, and tried to find Jason somewhere; he was gone. “I remember everyone.”

“And you never told me!”

“What good would it have done?” Steve interjected, throwing Tony across the room towards a balcony like area. “Other than angering you like you are now!”

“I hate you,” Tony declared, and then the three were clashing again, exchanging blows and insults.

“Unfortunately for us though even the information your father carried wasn’t useful at the time; now though… Now a certain someone expanded upon it all. Ahh, but in good time you’ll understand.” Zemo exited his safe room, smiling as Tony and Steve clashed, as Bucky took up Steve’s shield, as Jason rocked in the corner and covered his ears to block out the sound. “You’ll all understand.” And Zemo slipped out.

Jason, cheeks tear streaked and eyes wide and wild, caught the movement; he’d went to the corner, to where it was safe, had curled upon himself and cried and cried and cried. He didn’t want to hear it anymore; he wanted it all to be over.

He looked over as Zemo disappeared around the corner, turned back to where his caretakers fought against their once-friend. No; this wasn’t right. Jason wasn’t going to let Zemo escape; he stood shakily, with hitched breaths, and followed Zemo out the door.

T’challa too was haunting the hallways after the reveal, having followed Tony and stalked them about the facility. He was reassessing his position as new king of Wakanda and his duties as Black Panther; he had been wrong to seek out vengeance upon a victim as innocent as his father had been. T’challa had to offer help; to do what was right, to be the hero his father would be proud of. He took off the mask, fitted it into a pocket, to breathe easier and feel cleansed of the wrong doings he had done, and almost done.

That was when he heard the sound of feet pounding a hallway over, a shout, and then a soft cry in the same voice; T’challa ran. He had to stop this before people got hurt.

Jason had gone for Zemo, had ran and ran, had yelled out a battle cry as he approached and raised his gun arm; and then Zemo had turned, holding a thick device in his hand, and jabbed it right below Jason’s ribs and pulled the trigger. Jason cried out in pain, electricity running right through his body, across every muscle; it was a high strength taser, something for large animals or supermutants. Jason tried to pop a shot off as he went down, but Zemo was gone, out the door and into the snow.

There was a boy in the hallway, choking on the air around him, with a gun in one hand and his other in a cast; T’challa recognized him as the kid with spirit, Jason, Phoenix. He approached quickly, sensing his distress, and reached out a hand for him.

“Phoenix,” he called cautiously, and the boy pointed his gun at him; T’challa stopped. He raised his hands calmly, thankful he had removed the mask earlier. “I am not here to hurt you; where did Zemo go?”

Jason put the gun down, waving his cast out towards the door. “Shocked me,” he choked out, “Taser…”

T’challa assessed the boy; his arms trembled, and he kept trying to get his feet beneath him. Whatever had shocked him had been very strong. T’challa glanced at the door before kneeling in front of the teenager; he had to take care of Jason before he could go after Zemo.

“Replicate my breathing,” he instructed; he steadied his breathing, moving his hand upwards as he breathed in and downwards as he breathed out.

Jason tried to follow along, breathing in tandem, urging his muscles to stop spasming; eventually, when he could breathe naturally again and he gulped in great lungfuls, he collapsed against the wall. T’challa nodded encouragingly.

“That’s good,” he reached out and patted Jason’s knee softly. “That’s good; keep breathing like that. That’s good, Phoenix; I have to go after Zemo now. Will you be alright?”

Jason turned his head towards the door and nodded twice; T’challa patted his knee once more before rising and going out the door, into the bright sun.

T’challa exited, out into the bright light,

Zemo was holding a gun in his hand, though his body language spoke nothing of a threat. “Ross paid me,” Zemo spoke. “He believes Barnes to be a threat that cannot be contained; he wants the man dead.” Zemo lifted the gun. “You won’t let that happen, right? I don’t care; but I’m tired. My family is dead; they died in Sokovia. I have nothing left to live for.” He went to pull the trigger, but T’challa was quicker.

In the hallway, Jason had finally caught his breath; he could still hear Steve and Bucky fighting, could hear Tony throw accusations, and he heard Bucky cry out in pain before falling silent. For all Jason knew, he was dead; it felt like it then, as quiet descended. It felt like nothing would ever be the same, as if something had broken. Shattered.

It was all wrong; and it was all Zemo’s fault. Zemo and Ross and everyone in between.

Slowly, Jason stumbled to his feet; he let the gun slip from his fingers. He didn’t need it; he wouldn’t need it again. All he needed was his strength, his hurt and pain and anger, all to fill the sucking void in his chest; he put one foot in front of the other and he too went out into the light.

T’challa pulled the gun away from Zemo. “I am sorry,” he spoke, “for your loss; many have lost as of late. I believe there are more losses to come. But I cannot let you take your life; we will let the Panel decide.”

While Zemo mourned, a movement by the doorway caught T’challa’s attention. He stood to approach the new comer; the boy’s shoulders were broad, hinting to a height in his future. He was the Soldiers’ boy, their child, their charge; as protective as they were of him, he was of them. The set of his shoulders indicated his anger, the blank mask he wore even more frightening, and his eyes—devoid of all emotion—cast a glow upon the snow at their feet.

“I know you are angry,” T’challa spoke; his voice was even and quiet, hoping to offer comfort and understanding. “He and his cohorts took your father from you.” He waited for the boy to say something; he knew the Soldiers weren’t really the boy’s parents. The story was hard not to remember, as iconic as it had been.

Jason stopped a good five feet from T’challa, but his eyes were only for the man behind the Wakandan; his cold gaze, frighteningly vacant, was honed on Zemo.

“I lost my father to this man too; don’t let your own hurt cloud your judgement, Phoenix.” T’Challa remembered when his own emotional turmoil blinded him from the truth. “Let justice prevail.”

Jason pivoted his foot, as if to return inside, to listen to the Black Panther and honor justice; his body moved smoothly to follow his foot’s direction, but then he was facing T’Challa again, having turned back towards the man. His head tipped awkwardly, still eyeing Zemo.

“Jason…let justice prevail.”

The boy’s lips twitched; Zemo took much from Jason. Took his father, took Bucky; took his family, tore the Avengers apart. There was a sudden flash of green behind T’Challa; it was a silent attack, no indication beyond the light and a quiet _shuck_ sound, and when T’Challa turned back to Zemo, there was nothing but air there. His gaze turned back on Jason, whose eyes were wide and glowing brighter, the same green as what had just happened.

“Justice prevailed,” he quipped before turning and stalking back inside the compound, leaving T’Challa alone, holding Zemo’s gun in the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahahaaaa!! Jason finally uses his magic!!  
> NEXT CHAPTER: Time skip to present times, wrap up Bucky's interrogation, Ross discusses their future with everyone involved, T'challa speaks up for their freedom, and Jason sinks further into anger... Also, the final plot twist happens!


	13. We Will Drive Ourselves Insane

“I believe you.” The interrogator says; he’s watching Bucky intently, hands steepled. “I believe you feel remorse for what happened, and the part you had in it; I believe you to be innocent of the bombing at the Panel, but I cannot say you are innocent for what happened in Lagos or at Ross’ facility. You still hurt people.”

“I know,” Bucky whispers.

“Do you know what happens now?”

His eyes are half lidded; he’s tired. He’d fought for so long, running in circles, and here. Here was the end. “I can imagine.”

The man plucks up various pieces of paper, stacks them, straightens them out, organizes them in files. “Is there anything you’d like as a final wish? Something you want me to tell your family or friends?”

Anything he would say they would already know; that he loves them, believes in them, wants them to be happy. He shakes his head.

The doors buzz open, and a series of medical personnel march in, wheeling a capsule with a giant icon stamped on the top; Bucky cries. His lip trembles, feeling hurt even further, and he hopes to everything good and holy, to anything or anyone out there that takes pity on him that Jason never finds out.

They’re in a glass room again, this time all seated about the table; Clint has a tight grip on Wanda’s hand, who’s watching Jason’s pinched face with something torn between worry and pride. Sam glosses over Steve, who’s nursing a black eye, and Steve pointedly doesn’t look at him. Scott is the only one that appears somewhat relaxed; even Natasha is stiff. She only watches Wanda, who ignores her, and Clint eyes Natasha sadly.

Ross is droning on, about what the Panel agreed on for this whole debacle. “T’challa votes for you to be completely free, if only monitored. He apparently doesn’t believe you to be a threat.” Ross pointedly looks at Wanda; she stares right across the table at Jason, breathing calmly. “I give you one last chance to sign the Accords and put yourselves to good use; if not, we confiscate all your equipment, this time for good, and Miss Maximoff will be put under periodical evaluations to ensure she has not gone further towards being Rogue. You will be banned from New York for an indefinite amount of time. You have King T’challa to thank for this leniency.”

“And Bucky?” Steve questions; his voice is as tough as before. He’s not one to give up, not one to let go. He will fight; he can do it all day.

There’s a gleam in Ross’ eye when he responds, something vicious; Clint wishes T’challa and Tony’s statements about what Ross did would’ve been believed or considered valid enough to remove Ross. He’s a horrible man.

“The Winter Soldier has been contained and confined until we figure out how to reform him properly; thanks to Mister Wayne for donating the technology, we’re able to keep him on ice until that happens. The Stasis, I’ve been told, is a miraculous invention.”

Jason breathes; heavily, his chest heaves. _Mister Wayne, Wayne tech, Bruce volunteered the capsule for Bucky_. Everything fades away, the numbness and the pain, until all that’s left is anger and the pulsing mantra of hate h _ate_ _hate._ He latches onto that, sinks his teeth into it; he thinks if he tries hard enough he could crush the table in front of him. Across from him, Steve mutters to himself ( _“motherfucker”_ ); he stands then, shoves the receipt for his shield across the table.

“Keep it.” And then he’s out the door.

Jason stands slowly, every move measured, and Wanda watches him, calculating; he keeps his gaze firm on Ross, even when he reaches forward and grabs the leather jacket from the pile of equipment in the center of the table. “I’m keeping the jacket,” he says, too calm and natural for the anger burning in his soul, and then he’s turning and leaving, following Steve’s footsteps out.

They’re escorted out, civilians all of a sudden in a top-secret military base, and Jason catches a glimpse from one of the monitors they pass by; Bucky, barely viewable through the fog keeping him sedated, looks like he’s dead. Above his head, the Wayne logo is stamped on the metal of the capsule. It’s oddly reminiscent of the ones Hydra utilized, Jason thinks, and then he’s being shoved forward by a guard and Steve—eyes riveted forward—grips his arm.

“We’ll figure something out,” he promises.

Jason already has.

They all go to ground, they retire, on Clint’s farm; they make it work. Scott goes back to work in his lab, Wanda presses her forehead to the horses and pretends the monitor bracelet on her wrist wouldn’t shriek alarms if she uses her powers. Clint plants corn, Steve makes eggs for breakfast, and Jason seethes.

It grows and festers until one night he’s planned all he needs; he disappears.

Wanda finds him on the roof of Clint’s farmhouse; she walks carefully across the slates, loud enough for Jason to know she’s there. The sun is setting and he’s focused on it, his casted arm back in a sling and he’s casually tossing the pain pills over the edge of the roof. She steps closer.

“Jason.”

The setting sun illuminates his skin. “I want to watch them burn,” he grits out.

“Who?” she asks, though she can guess.

“Everyone.” He doesn’t elaborate and she doesn’t ask him to.

She steps forward more and sits beside him; her legs dangle off the side and she too watches the sun set. It glows a burnt orange, a faded light that fights the encroaching darkness, and she twisted the monitor bracelet; she wants it gone. “When do we start?”

Jason finally turns his gaze to her; the power is there, raging and roaring, and she wonders if he can hear it calling to him. “You want to do this?”

“I once told Vision that I cannot control everyone’s fear of me, but I can control my own; and I have.” She tosses her head. “I am no longer afraid of what I can do; and I’ve decided that if I cannot stop them from fearing me, I will give them a reason to.”

Jason nods and turns back to the sun, tosses the last handful of pills over the edge. “We start tomorrow; be ready to leave tonight.”

She is; she waits outside in the shadows by the barn, a bag slung over her shoulder. She packed a change of clothes and food. She needs nothing else; a shadow moves in front of the window in Steve and Jason’s room. The window screaks open and Wanda holds her breath; she watches the shadow climb onto the window sill and then jump from it. He lands in a crouch and hurries toward the barn on silent feet.

As he approaches, she recognizes Clint’s hiking backpack on the boy’s back; it’s a heavy duty backpack, with lots of hidden compartments and space. She knew he would grab whatever else they would need. Jason looks her over.

“Sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” but it’s a half lie; she knows if she doesn’t go with him, he will die. He will make a mistake and he will get himself killed; and she knows too that if she stays here, her power contained in a bottle, her anger in another, she will turn into a ticking time bomb. This way, she can channel it and not lose herself; she can feel whole again.

Jason takes hold of the bracelet on her wrist, pulls, and it breaks it half; a light starts blinking rapidly and he throws it into the field by the barn.

“Where are we going first?”

His eyes glow in the low light and his casted arm—free of its sling—twitches; “Everywhere.”

“We have to be more coordinated than that.” She matches his pace as he walks into the wilderness. “Where do we start, Jason?”

He turns to her sharply, but she doesn’t flinch; he doesn’t scare her, never has and never will. “Where do you want to start?”

There’s no hesitation when she labels “Hydra”. She wants to destroy what little strands of Hydra are left, what recalibration centers still stand, what facilities are hidden away in cold mountains. For herself, for Pietro, for Bucky… For everything the world has taken from her.

She gauges him, and he assesses her. “Then let’s go.”

They disappear into the night; in the morning, Steve wakes to an empty room, a cot made up perfectly in the corner, and the window flung wide open.

They’ll scour the farm, all the way out into the woods; there will be no sighting of them. There will be no sighting of them for three months; and then…

Then hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so shocked no one called me out on the Stasis! I honestly thought I was being super obvious but Im glad no one did! So we've reached the end of the Civil War arc; Ive got 2 or 3 more stories planned for this series and then we reach the end. Im so proud of how far we've come, but Ill save my gushing for later <3
> 
> I can tell you that the next story arc will be a Under the Red Hood esque type story so look forward to that ;) If you feel like some things weren't answered, good; they'll be elaborated on in the next story, I promise you!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope it was enjoyable!


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